


Strong(er) Poison

by Pudentilla



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers, The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 48,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pudentilla/pseuds/Pudentilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda and Andy et al populate the plot of Dorothy Sayers murder mystery, "Strong Poison." Also posted on ff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Some corner of Andy Sach's mind registered first, the arrival of two uniformed New York City policemen and a third man in civilian suit, who, judging by the cut of the suit, had to be a plain clothes detective, and then the quiet entry of the men into Greg Sargent's office, the door closing behind them.  
But the vast majority of her attention was focused on the article on her computer screen about levels of toxic substances found in readily available goods one could buy from the local Lowe's or Home Depot. She was completing her final edits. She had no sooner hit the send button than the phone on her desk buzzed. "Sachs, can you come in here? Greg asked gruffly.  
  
"Sure, Boss" she answered in a cheery tone whose element of falsity she did not bother to hide.  
  
"Not the crime beat, not the crime beat, not the crime beat," she intoned as she crossed the newsroom floor. There were more than a few admiring sets of eyes that quietly followed her journey to Greg's office. Andy had met with some hostility when she first arrived at the Mirror, fresh from a storied flameout at Runway, the country's, if not the world's, premier fashion magazine. There could be no different work place cultures (tense, neurotic, hierarchical vs democratic, free wheeling, profane) or interior decorating schemes (elegant, understated vs scheme, what scheme? We got these desks in a bankruptcy auction) than that of Runway and the Mirror, the upstart, crusading, daily newspaper where Andy had landed thanks to the effective if bewildering recommendation that her former boss, Miranda Priestly had given her.  
"My greatest disappointment. You'd be an idiot not to hire her."  
  
She worked hard and well. If she dressed better than she ever would have without her year in fashion, she knew and could only afford to adopt the casual style of young urban professionals. "What are you wearing Andrea? The love child of Annie Hall and hipster couture?" Andy imagined Miranda asking in the quiet deadpan voice that used to lacerate her ego on a daily basis when she took a final look in the mirror before hitting the streets every morning.  
  
Andy's raw talent, her generosity, her ready smile and her eagerness to pitch in and help anyone had softened the suspicions of her new colleagues. In three years she had earned the newsroom's respect. She preferred to work on stories that revealed systemic problems - her series on New York's foster system had won awards - or stories about quirky, free spirited responses to the failing or corrupt systems she documented. Her series on the anonymous artists who waged a gorilla style campaign against corporate green washing by posting advertising posters that looked astonishingly similar to actual subway and bus stop ads, but bore devastating slogans ("Yes we call ourselves 'Green Solutions,' but we still invest in coal fired plants,') was the talk of water coolers around Manhattan and earned a reference in one of Jimmy Kimmel's monologues.  
  
So Andy's only concern as she crossed the newsroom floor that morning was that Greg had decided to post her to the crime beat and that the men in blue were here to fill her in on some heinous deed that Greg would insist she write about. She was both right and wrong. She'd never write this story.  
"Andrea Sachs?" the detective in plain clothes asked.  
  
"Hi," she replied, extending her hand. The gesture seemed to fluster the detective.  
  
"Ambrosino, John Ambrosino," he answered, taking her hand and then reddening as he dropped it. "Miss Sachs," I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Nate Cooper."  
  
"Nate?" Andy gasped, shocked and bewildered. One of the uniformed officers pulled her arms behind her back and the second put her hands in cuffs. "Nate's dead?" she asked as Ambrosino droned on.  
  
"You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney....."


	2. Chapter 2

The story was a one day wonder in the frenetically paced world of Manhattan media. Girl kills boyfriend in lover's quarrel. Welcome to the city, kiddo. The headlines blared while Miranda Priestly and her entourage were in Europe for the whirlwind of shows and parties that began in New York, sojourned in Milan and London with a quick dash to Berlin and concluded in Paris. It was the autumn spectacle for the coming summer season - there were trends to be identified, derivative statements to be scorned, daring breaks with expectation to be encouraged and colleagues to knife in the back. "Emily, do keep up," was Miranda's daily if not hourly injunction. 

"I love my job, I love my job, I love my job," was Emily's response. Andy's former colleagues could be forgiven for missing the headlines about her arrest, the below the fold stories about the bail hearing or the "city section" paragraphs about the beginning of the trial some months later. There were important matters to attend to. Miranda, however, would never forgive herself for being so late to discover the catastrophic mess in which Andréa had found herself.

It was the twins who discovered and then broke the news to Miranda. The three were at breakfast, as they had ever day since Miranda's return to New York from the fabled Paris Fashion show where Andy had abandoned Miranda to the paparazzi and her company phone to a fountain. The experience had shaken Miranda in away that receipt of Steven's divorce papers via fax, Irv's plan to dethrone her at a lunch she herself was hosting or the necessary betrayal of Nigel that thwarting Irv required had not. Unless she wanted to end her life as she had the week, alone and unloved - she needed to attend to the parts of her life that weren't Runway.  
  
There were some changes after Paris. Always breakfast with the girls if they were with her. Dinner home three nights a week no matter what. Attendance at weekend sporting events that Miranda felt required her to master the Byzantine rules of girls' lacrosse. She delegated decisions to Nigel, finally giving him the scope of autonomy that he deserved and had earned. She ceased to torture Emily and began to mentor her, explaining the logic of important decisions. The unfortunate second assistants were not so fortunate. She refused to learn their names and they rarely lasted more than a few months. Every morning when she hurled her bag and coat on Andréa's desk, she was startled to see a face other than Andréa's, eyes that were not gentle, chocolate pools of humor and grace, a form that while it conformed to the almost emaciated standard of the clackers, did not afford the shapely, pleasing curves that Andréa's had. "Three years, Miranda. Get a grip," she'd snarl to herself before barking out commands to the benighted, anonymous second assistant.

#

"Oh my God." Caroline shrieked as she turned the page of the New York Post to Page 6. 

"Jeez, Caroline, volume," Cassidy protested, looking up from her cereal bowl. Cassidy was not a morning person.

"Hmmm, yes Caroline," Miranda said absently as she turned the page of the style section of the New York Times.

"Mom," it's Andy! She's on trial?"

"Gimme that," commanded Cassidy as she grabbed the paper from Caroline's hands. 

"Holy shit." she exclaimed as she read the headline.

"Cassidy, language," Miranda objected. "What are you talking about?"

"Is the Jailed Journo's Jig Up? Closing Arguments in Murder Trial of Andy Sachs Start Today." Cassidy recited. "Here, Mom. Read it," she said thrusting the paper on top of Miranda's. 

_Andy Sachs, former star reporter for the Daily Mirror's murder trial is coming to a a rather speedy end. Yesterday, Justice Prescott Abbot Hill declared the evidentiary record closed and informed both the prosecutor and defense attorney that today would be the only day provided for closing arguments. Latoya Vance, the deputy district attorney for Manhattan, commented on leaving the courtroom. "This isn't a complicated case. Our evidence is in. We'll simply remind the jury of the elements required to convict a person of first degree homicide and the ample evidence we have provided for each element of the charge. Andy Sachs murdered Nate Cooper in cold blood and she will soon pay the price for her crime.' Calls to the Public Defender's Office were not responded to in time for inclusion for this article's publication._

"First degree homicide? Public Defender? What is going on here? Where's her family?" Miranda was shocked. She was not a woman easily shocked. Who was this Nate Cooper?

Cassidy looked earnestly at her mother. "You don't think she did it, do you?" Miranda snapped to attention. "No. Of course not," she said firmly. If there were anyone in this world that Andrea would have tried to murder, it would have been Miranda. And despite great and prolonged provocation, she had not. "There must have been some terrible mistake."  
"Be real, Cass," Caroline snorted. "She would never have murdered Nate. She already broke up with him before Paris. Nate Cooper, Miranda decided, must be the young man she had heard Emily refer to as 'cook boy' refer to on occasion. "Before Paris" and "After Paris" were the words that the denizens of Miranda's world used to mark historical epochs. There was no use denying it. Miranda had changed in manner if not demeanor after Paris. Cassidy meant that Nate and Andréa had ended their relationship before the disastrous Paris Fashion week, three years before. "I hadn't known." she said quietly.

"You wouldn't have, Mom." Caroline said in tone that was meant to be reassuring. "You never know anything about the lives of your assistants. " It was true, Miranda realized. She wondered if the distance allowed her to demand things of her employees that she would never have dreamed of if she'd known the mundane details of their lives.

"Can you fix this, Mom?" Cassidy asked earnestly. Andy was great. She shouldn't be doing time for someone else's crime." The kitchen was silent for a few long moments. The girls studied their mother's face, which betrayed nothing, as she sat deep in thought.

"You are absolutely right, Bobbsey." Cassidy rolled her eyes.  
"Mom, please. I'm not a baby." Miranda favored her with a rueful smile.  
"Darling, your impending adolescence is something about which I employ my considerable powers of denial as frequently as possible. Out of respect for your emerging personhood, I shall endeavor to remember to eschew affectionate nicknames for you if you endeavor to regard my failures with a degree of charity."

"Mom," Caroline practically shouted. "Enough with the flowery prose. Can you save Andy." Miranda turned to look at her. Caroline's face was red with anxiety and frustration. Miranda's own was serious.  
"I don't know, Caroline, but I shall try. She looked around the kitchen. "Cara," she called and was soon greeted by the Priestly's housekeeper cum cook. 

"Yes, Miranda?" Cara inquired. 

"I don't know if or when I'll be back for dinner tonight." Miranda informed her. "I don't know if I'll return home alone or have guests. Nor do I know whether they'll want to eat. I may, indeed I hope, to be accompanied by a guest who will be staying with us indefinitely. If not today than very soon. As the details of the day grow certain I have Emily contact you with the information."

"Of course, Miranda." This burst of non-information really wasn't necessary. Cara had kept Miranda's house since the girls were infants. She had seen her through promotions, divorces, affairs and more of Irv's annoying shenanigans than anyone should be required to endure. She was prepared for any domestic complication Miranda might wish to suddenly thrust upon her. 

"Girls, are you done here?" Cara asked.

"Yes." Miranda answered for them. "Off you go, we don't have time to dawdle today." The girls nodded enthusiastic agreement, ran to the dishwasher to deposit their bowls and spoons and then thundered up the stairs. Miranda contemplated reprimanding their unladylike noise and then chuckled. She too was about to thunder.

She picked up her cell phone and hit the second number in her speed dial. "Emily. Cancel my day. Be advised you may need to cancel tomorrow as well. Reschedule Donatella for next week. Call McCloud and tell him I will need to speak with him at 6:00pm this evening. Find out in what courtroom the State vs. Sachs trial is being held. Text that information to Roy. Text me the time the trial begins today and meet me there 15 minutes beforehand. Tell the relevant people that all decisions today and tomorrow will be made by Nigel. Tell what's her name to pick up the shirts I wanted from Tom Ford and some organic biscuits for Patricia at that new doggie boutique I like. And tell Nigel that some idiot has charged Andréa Sachs with murder and that we are going to do something to fix that."

"Yes, Miranda," Emily said evenly. "Anything else?" 

"No," Miranda said, "that's all." She ended the call with no little admiration for Emily's self-restraint. Perhaps it was time for the chick to spread her wings.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The courtroom, Miranda observed, was an aesthetic disaster. Good bones in the WPA original - walnut, brass, plaster cornice moldings just below the ceiling. Jarringly modern light fixtures hung from the ceiling, however, and computer monitors on the wall. What had once probably been an ornate and detailed judge's bench was now oak veneer plywood with some hardwood trim. Miranda suspected that her notion of a proper courtroom was more shaped by PBS imports of British television than memories of her childhood, but the jumble of styles and materials were depressing. She heard the door from the judge's chambers open, but it was only a clerk who came to gather papers and then return from whence she came. Miranda's eyes returned to Emily's iPad, which her assistant had preloaded with a selection of news articles she had found sometime between Miranda's call and Emily's own arrival at the courthouse, armed with two cups of Starbucks.

Suddenly the morning's gears shifted up to a higher speed. Seats filled. Lawyers and their assistants entered. The prosecutor was a tall striking black woman; the public defender, a short, nebbishy white man in a rumpled suit. They laughed and chatted like neighbors. Miranda found their easy conversation somewhat disconcerting. She was even more flummoxed when Ms. Vance turned to survey the spectators like some medieval lord, her eyes fiery, her gaze intense. Mr. Lermberger's body, in contrast, was collapsed in his chair, seemingly indifferent to the noise about him. 

The tempo of the room changed suddenly again when the door that separated the holding cell from the courtroom opened and a uniformed jailor led the shackled defendant to a chair beside her lawyer at the defense table. A cottony quiet fell over the courtroom as spectators turned to feast their eyes on Andy Sachs. She was much thinner now than in her Runway days and to Miranda's intense dismay, her long beautiful hair had been cut, no cropped short, to a haphazard, pixie-ish style. She was dressed in prison orange and her hands were shackled at her waist. Her feet were shackled with a length of chain short enough to force her to walk in halting, awkward steps. 

Miranda fought to remain calm, to restrain tears that traitorously threatened. She choked back her own gasp but Emily could not. Andy turned and saw them. She stared for a long moment, pale and trembling. Then tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes. She neither smiled nor frowned and after a moment she turned and sat, waiting patiently for the jailer to release her from her shackles, as if she were well used to this wait. When he was done, Andy leaned over and listened a her lawyer talked quietly to her.

"Where's Doug? Where's Lily? Why aren't her parents here?" Emily asked plaintively, looking around the room. Miranda assumed that Emily referred to friends of Andy and that she had intended a rhetorical question. Accordingly, she said nothing, which she thought would be her policy for as long a possible while this charade played out before her.

Quiet whispers eventually grew to noisy chatter echoing off the plaster ceilings and plywood dados on the walls. This din stopped suddenly, however, when the clerk of the court entered from the chamber's door, calling, "all rise" as he moved from the door, around the back of the witness stand and then back in front of it until he reached his place at a table set at a height higher than the lawyers' tables, but lower than the judge's bench. Everyone stood and watched the door to the judge's chambers. Next an impossibly young girl, in a suit from Macy's sales rack, wearing sensible pumps and carrying an according file jammed six inches full of papers followed the path of clerk and took her place next to him. The last attendants, the court reporter and his assistant followed taking their places behind a bank of computer equipment to the right of the clerks' table. 

Last of course was the judge, Prescott Abbot Hill. Some are born patrician and in America some achieve the status. Miranda well knew the difference. Hill was to the manor born. She also knew Hill to nod to him from charity events and social dos required by Steven's work - may Steven choke on his own whiskey. He seemed completely out of place in the slap dash courtroom filled with rising stars like the prosecutor, hacks like the public defender and court reporter, and the impossibly young like the justice's clerk. He also seemed completely in control of the room. Andréa, she realized, no longer could be grouped among the impossibly young. Did that mean, Miranda wondered, that she had acquired the status of the possibly young.

Called to order. Invited to sit again. Words, words, words. The jury summoned. Old women and young men, a range of races and one face that Miranda instantly recognized. For the first time since breakfast, perhaps since Paris, she relaxed.


	4. Chapter 4

"Thank you, your Honor," the prosector said as she rose and walked around the prosecution table to face the jury. She stood tall and lean, her natural style hair cropped short. Her skin was caramel toned. Her cheekbones were high. Her suit was Armani. She was stunning. Vance was not model thin, but Miranda idly wondered what it would be like to dress her. She considered Versace's sculptured, off the shoulder pastel blue evening gown - the color would pop against her skin. She thought about the black and white mermaid that would flatter the attorney's long torso and legs. Then she stopped herself. She would not do a cover on prosecutors - this woman was trying to put Andréa in the electric chair. For Christ's sake. Get a grip Miranda. She focused on the lawyer's words.

"The burden on the prosecution is very high in first degree murder cases. As well it should be. The only easy element in the charge is the requirement that the defendant be over the age of 18." She turned to the defense table. "The defendant has stipulated to that element. We must prove that the defendant intentionally planned to kill Mr. Cooper. We must prove she did indeed kill Mr. Cooper. We have and thus we are confident that you will vote to find this woman," - she turned again pointing directly at Andy, "a stone-cold, heartless killer, guilty of first degree murder."  
"Let me review the facts for you," she said, turning back to the jury. "First Nate Cooper was murdered. You heard the Dr. Herzig from the coroner's office testify that he died from arsenic poisoning. The defendant stipulates that this was not an accidental or intentional death. People don't die from arsenic poisoning by accident. The defendant planned this murder and cleverly executed it."

"The defendant does not dispute that she knew how to acquire the precursors of arsenic. You heard Detective Ambrosino describe the results of the NYPD's computer forensic analysis of the defendant's computer hard drive and of her internet usage. Regular, repeated visits to numerous sites that described how to obtain various household items you could buy at one of the big box stores that contained easily derivable arsenic. The defendant does not dispute her expertise in the acquisition of poison. She cannot. Her computer tells you that she sought out the knowledge that would allow her to acquire the materials necessary to derive arsenic."

"You heard Professor Aaronson of NYU's chemistry department testify how easily a layperson can perform the simple steps necessary to derive an ingestible form of arsenic from these items. You heard him testify that the defendant actually interviewed him and asked him to describe these steps." Now, the ceiling lights lowered and one of the computer monitors projecting from the wall opposite the jury lit up and showed images of Andy's notes. "Here are the defendant's interview notes. You heard her identify those notes as her own." Now the monitor played a brief video clip. Andy sitting in an interview room, Ambrosino and one of the uniformed cops sitting opposite her. 

"Yes, these are mine." she said in a soft voice. Hearing that voice again after so many months, Miranda frowned. It was so familiar, so pleasing, so desperate. Emily scrawled on her pad and ripped the page off handing it to Miranda. "WHERE IS HER LAWYER?!!!" Miranda sighed and shook her head as Emily fumed. Andy knew she was innocent. Knew her arrest was a mistake. She didn't need a lawyer. Yes, Miranda frowned, she was that naive. 

The prosecutor resumed her narrative. "The defendant does not dispute that she in fact acquired the items necessary to derive arsenic. She cannot. You heard Detective Ambrosino describe the record of her credit card purchases and expense reports." Now a clip of Andy identifying the documents as hers played. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," I'm sure you've often heard that the prosecution must prove the murderer's motives and means. New York law states the requirement for a charge of first degree homicide differently, and Justice Hill will instruct you precisely on each element of the charge. But, I submit with the utmost confidence that we have shown you the means. This woman." She was pointing at Andréa again. 

"All these cheap theatrics only work, Miranda thought with a sigh, "because there is a different audience for each performance and they only ever see one performance."

"This woman," Ms. Vance repeated, her voice rising in volume and intensity, biting off each word, "set about learning how to poison someone with arsenic. She was diligent, she was thorough. Dear god, she interviewed one of the country's leading chemists to get her information. This was no accident. It was deliberate."

She stopped. She stood perfectly still and remained perfectly silent for a few moments. Twelve sets of eyes turned to her, waiting patiently for her to continue. Miranda glanced around the courtroom. Every reporter was furiously scribbling on a pad, or typing into a tablet. Even the clerk and the judge seemed to be paying the closest attention to Ms. Vance. "Damn," Miranda thought, "she is very, very good at her job."

#

"But why?" the prosecutor, speaking again, asked in a quiet, almost gentle voice. "Why did the defendant want to kill Nate Cooper, and to arrange a painful, even a hideous death for him? Because he betrayed her." At this, Miranda grew puzzled. The girls said that Andréa had broken it off with the chef before Paris. How could he betray her?

"You heard Douglas Templeton, a friend of both the defendant and her victim, until the details of the murder became known, testify that Mr. Cooper returned to New York from Boston; that he began to court the defendant again; that she resisted his advances for a very great while; that she finally and almost reluctantly agreed to resume a romantic relationship with him." 

"You heard Ms. Lily Goodwin testify. She was, until the details of the murder became apparent, the defendant's oldest friend." 

"My god," Miranda thought, they all abandoned her. The girl had lowered her head into her hands. Her lawyer awkwardly patted her back."

"Ms. Goodwin," the prosecutor continued, "explained to you how difficult a decision it was for the defendant. How committed the defendant was to her career and how uncertain she was that she would be able to give Mr. Cooper the time he would want from her. They had been through this before, and Mr. Cooper had broken it off and left for Boston because the defendant would not make their relationship a priority."

Emily was scrawling on her pad again, with jagged, angry strokes. "SEXIST, MUCH?!!!" she wrote. Miranda nodded absently and put her hand over Emily's for a moment to calm her. She turned her attention back to lawyer Vance.

"You heard Mr. Templeton testify that shortly after Mr. Cooper moved back in with the defendant, Mr. Templeton and Mr. Cooper took the defendant and Ms. Goodwin out for dinner and outlined a proposal to the defendant. The four would form a partnership to start a restaurant that specialized in take out lobster rolls. Mr. Cooper had apparently mastered the art of the lobster roll while working in restaurants in Boston."

"Mr. Templeton was to supply the business and accounting knowledge. Mr. Cooper was to provide the restaurant expertise. Ms. Goodwin, who manages an art gallery, would handle interior design. All they needed from the defendant was financial support and perhaps a request to her friends in the newspaper business that they give the restaurant an honest review."

"The two men proposed that each of them would take out a new credit card and withdraw the maximum amount allowed. They would pool the cash and use it to finance the start up of the restaurant. Mr. Templeton showed the defendant the business plan he had developed for the venture. You'll recall that Mr. Templeton is a graduate of Northwestern University's business school and presently works at Goldman Sachs. Under the plan, Mr. Templeton, Ms. Goodwin and the defendant would continue working and manage the credit card payments from their salaries and whatever additional funds the defendant could obtain from freelance work. Mr. Cooper would quit his job and undertake the establishment of the restaurant."

"It was a good plan. You saw the spreadsheets Mr. Templeton had created." The monitor showed a pdf of some spreadsheets. "How good a plan?" Vance asked rhetorically. "The restaurant is still thriving today. Despite the murder of Mr. Cooper and the incarceration of the defendant."  
"Objection, your Honor." Andréa's lawyer said, shuffling to his feet.  
"Finally," Miranda thought.

"Yes, Mr. Lermberger?" Justice Hill asked, mildly surprised at the interruption.

"The reference to incarceration is prejudicial. My client is in jail simply because she was unable to make bail. She remains entitled to the presumption of innocence."

"NOT HELPING!!!!" Emily scrawled on her pad as all eyes turned to Andy in her orange jumpsuit. Miranda grabbed it and the pen from her and scribbled beneath Emily's message.

"I WANT EVERYTHING YOU CAN FIND ON THIS IDIOT!" Emily nodded crisply and with an inquiring look touched the iPad in Miranda's lap. Miranda handed it to her and Emily set to work. 

"Not make bail?" Miranda wondered to herself. She was relieved that bail had been set, but wondered why her parents, or the Mirror hadn't supported her. Well, bail wouldn't be an issue now, she thought grimly and chastised herself. "Never a dollar short, Miranda Priestly, but always a day late."

"Sustained," Justice Hall quickly agreed. "Ms. Vance, we need argument here, not purple prose.

"Of course, your Honor, the prosecutor said graciously, a small smile tugging at her lips acknowledging the success of her tactic. 

"Mr. Templeton's plan for the restaurant was a good plan. The defendant did not object to the plan, but rather to Mr. Cooper's manner of bringing it to her notice. According to Ms. Goodwin, the defendant believed that Mr. Cooper had romanced her solely to obtain her financial backing."

"BASTARD!!!" Emily's pen practically etched the words into the paper. Miranda nodded grimly.

"According to Ms. Goodwin and Mr. Templeton, the defendant was furious with Mr. Cooper. She broke off their romantic relationship and ordered him to remove himself from her apartment. Mr. Cooper took up residence on Mr. Templeton's coach as he had so many times before in their tempestuous relationship. You will note, ladies and gentlemen, that you do not have to take the words of Mr. Templeton and Ms. Goodwin alone for this account. The defendant herself testified to exactly the same events." Again the lights lowered. Again a video clip, this time of Andy on the witness stand answering Vance's question. 

"And then what happened?" Vance asked.

"I broke up with him," Andy answered her in a flat, disinterested voice.  
"Why?" asked Vance.

"I felt that he wasn't sincere. He wasn't in love with me. He just wanted me to invest in the restaurant." Andy replied.

"But you did invest in the restaurant." Vance observed.

"Yes. It was a good idea. Doug structured the financial side well." She had been staring at her hands, but lifted her head at this point, and looking directly into Vance's eyes, as though it were her Andy wanted to persuade and not the jury, she continued. "I would have invested in the restaurant in any event. I loved Nate. I wanted him to be successful. A restaurant in Manhattan was his life's dream." 

"You loved Nate?" wondered Miranda.

"You loved Nate?" asked Vance. 

"Yes," Andy replied. "He was one of my oldest friends. My first love. Of course I wanted him to be a success."

"But," Vance stated, "you weren't in love with him."

"No. Yes. I don't know. He was so persistent. And he was a very sweet man when he wanted to be. I was very confused when he said he wanted to try again. It's probably why I was so angry about the way he sprang the investment idea on me," Andy explained.

Miranda furrowed her brow. Was she in love with him or not?  
"So you kicked him out." Vance asked.

"Yes."

"But you invested in the restaurant." Vance continued.

"Yes."

"It seems like you recognize a financial opportunity better than you know your own heart," said Vance.

"Objection!" Lermberger roused himself from apparent hibernation.

"Withdrawn." Vance said sweetly. The clip ended and the lights turned up.

Vance turned to the jury and again waited in silence for a moment. When she felt the attention of each of the jurors on her, she began to speak. "So. The restaurant opens. The defendant feels betrayed and uncertain of her own romantic feelings. And then, Mr. Cooper began to date. Widely. Frequently. You heard Mr. Templeton testify that he thought it was "revenge dating." That Nate's heart was broken by the breakup."  
"You heard Ms. Goodwin testify that the defendant appeared indifferent to the Mr. Cooper's behavior. Business meetings were efficient but chilly. Ms. Goodwin said that despite the frosty distance the defendant kept, in private she was wont to make snide remarks about Mr. Cooper's harem.  
"Eventually, Mr. Cooper seems to have come to his senses. You heard the defendant testify that Mr. Cooper her called her and asked to speak with her at the end of May. Again the lights. Again a video clip of Andy on the stand.

"And you agreed to meet him?" asked Vance.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He was a friend. A business partner. Why wouldn't I?" Andy answered evenly.

"He came to your apartment?" Vance asked.

"Yes."

"You provided something to eat?" Vance asked.

"Just coffee and cake." Andy replied.

"Make it yourself?" Vance asked.

Andy smiled. "The coffee yes. I'm good with coffee." Miranda smiled at this as well. "But Nate's the cook. I bought some Entemens."

"How did you make the coffee?" Vance asked.

"A press pot. He likes...." she stopped. He liked filtre better than drip."

"And did you have coffee with him?" the prosecutor continued.

"No. I drink so much coffee at work, I try not to at home." The clip ended. The lights rose.

"Mr. Templeton told you how Mr. Cooper became quiet ill shortly after his meeting with the defendant. How Mr. Cooper even stayed home from the restaurant, fearing he had caught a stomach flu. The defendant told you that she felt fine after their coffee. She told you how Mr. Cooper apologized for the way he had proposed the investment; how he expressed interest in trying again. How she declined his offer. The defendant told you how happy she had been for the meeting. How it resolved in her mind the contradictory feelings she felt for the defendant. He was a friend, a partner, but nothing more." Miranda sighed with a relief she had not realized she felt.

"So the defendant testified. And perhaps that day late in May, so she felt. But Ladies and Gentlemen, you know this defendant is mercurial in her temperament, violent in her feelings. Ms. Goodwin testified how the defendant had become obsessed with her first job in Manhattan after the four had arrived in New York, fresh from college. Mr. Templeton, an investment banker found time to meet regularly with his friends. Mr. Cooper, a sous-chef with impossible hours, found time to meet regularly with his friends. Ms. Goodwin, whose job required her to visit studios and galleries all over the five boroughs, nevertheless, found time for her friends. The defendant, however, did not."

"The four musketeers became three. The defendant was always working late, leaving the few get togethers she managed to attend because of a sudden office emergency. She failed to attend the birthday party for Mr. Cooper, then her romantic partner, with whom she shared an apartment. She arranged for a business trip to Paris without even telling Mr. Cooper until the night before she left."

Andy bowed her head in her hands. Miranda suddenly found the design of her shoes the most interesting item in the courtroom. Emily rolled her eyes.

You heard the defendant testify how she returned home from Paris without a job. In a pique she had walked away from her employer during the most crucial time of the business year, tossed her phone in a Parisian fountain and journeyed back to New York. That she found her new job, with the Mirror, was due solely to the patience and understanding of the employer whom she had treated so disrespectfully.

Miranda blushed. "Got that right, sweetheart." Emily snorted to herself.   
"So," the prosecutor continued, "what does this angry, volatile woman do? As the prosecution has demonstrated means, we have demonstrated motive. The defendant, an emotional, headstrong woman, felt betrayed and belittled by the defendant for numerous reasons. He had dumped her. He had sought her out again for her money. He had paraded an endless string of revenge dates before her. Then he sought her out again. Ladies and Gentleman, Shakespeare had it right. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Whether you or I would feel scorned is not relevant. The defendant did. She had means - she knew more about obtaining arsenic than anyone in the city, and she had motive - the haughty pride of a career obsessed woman who wanted it all but ended up with nothing." At this moment, Emily suddenly found her own shoes fascinating and observed them with great attention, studiously avoiding Miranda's gaze. The prosecutor turned and walked back to the prosecution table. She made a show of picking up her notepad and casting a glance at its contents.

#

"So," she said in a quiet voice," tossing the notepad back on the table. "Means and motive. What about opportunity." Another pause as the jury watched her walk back to her post before the center of the jury box. "Well, the evidence shows that the defendant's opportunity to poison Mr. Cooper was extensive and timed with an uncanny precision. Indeed, a precision that could only have been planned by the defendant in a heartless, coldblooded fashion. You heard the defendant herself testify..."  
By now, every time Vance said the words "defendant" and "testify" in the same sentence, Miranda winced and then glared at the public defender. Emily hoped Mr. Lemberger had alternative career plans.

"You heard the defendant herself testify that Mr. Cooper sought her ought again around the July 4th weekend. He wanted to take her out to dinner, but the defendant was so busy that she only had time for lunch at her apartment. Indeed she was so busy that she didn't have time to shop for a proper meal." Again the lights and a video clip on the courtroom monitor. Andy again on the witness stand. Miranda shuddered. The girl - the possibly, young girl, - looked exhausted. Not defeated, but worn out and very much alone.

"And you prepared eggs for Mr. Cooper," asked the prosecutor.

"Yes. Eggs and toast. It was all I had in the fridge."

"And coffee?" Vance prompted.

"Yes, a press pot." Andy answered.

"And what did you talk about?" the prosecutor asked."Oh, the restaurant. It was doing well. Our folks. Old times." Andy answered.

"Did Mr. Cooper renew his request that you resume a romantic relationship?"

"Yes." Andy admitted.

"And you declined?"

"Yes." Andy said.

"How did Mr. Cooper respond when you turned him down." Vance queried.

"He was down but not devastated. Things to be happy about, things to be sad about." Andy replied.

"Andy after this meal, how did Mr. Cooper feel physically?" Ms. Vance inquired.

"Objection!" Lermberger protested, scrambling to his feet. "No predicate for the witness's knowledge."

"Sustained," said Justice Hill. "Ms. Vance, let's do this in the proper order."

"Of course, your Honor. I'm sorry," the prosecutor answered, again with a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Did there come a time when the defendant related to you how he responded physically to the dinner?" the prosecutor asked.

"Yes." Andy said. "He called the next morning to ask me if I had gotten sick."

"Did he explain why?" Vance inquired.

"Yes. He said he had been seriously ill. Up half the night vomiting. He was worried the eggs had been bad." Andy replied.

"Was there any reason for him to worry about this?" Vance asked.

"Well," Andy conceded with a sheepish look, "I don't pay a lot of attention to what's in my fridge. He found me once or twice before trying to fry a rotten egg."

"Had you been sick?" Vance asked.

"No. I was fine."

"Did you drink any of the coffee you served Mr. Cooper?"

"No."

"What did you tell Mr. Cooper." 

"I told him he should get checked out for food allergies." Andy said.

"Indeed," the prosecutor replied.

The clip ended the lights rose and Vance turned back to the jury. I remind you now of the testimony of Dr. Herzig of the coroner's office. You'll recall that she testified that she had found trace elements of arsenic in Mr. Cooper's fingernails and hairs. The arsenic in his hair, in fact, began at his roots and reached the full length of the hairs. That is significant, Ladies and Gentlemen, because it indicates that Mr. Cooper had been ingesting arsenic at least since the end of May.

The defendant and Mr. Cooper met one last time. One last opportunity for the defendant to revenge her ruined pride. "You heard Mr. Templeton testify that Mr. Cooper told him he was going to plead his case with the defendant one last time. If she declined his request again, he would accept the refusal. But he had come to the point where everything in his life was going well and he wanted badly to share it with the woman he loved well, if he hadn't always treated her as well as she deserved."

"Mr. Cooper, perhaps leery of the defendant's kitchen after his last meal there, agreed to have dinner with Mr. Templeton and then go to the defendant's apartment for coffee and dessert. You heard Mr. Templeton describe the meal the two shared." The lights went down and the computer monitor played a clip of Doug's testimony.

"And you prepared the meal?" Vance asked.

"Well, no." said Doug. "I'm not much of a cook, and Nate is. I had it catered from Smith and Wollensky."

"Do you always cater your dinner parties?" Vance inquired.

"Yes, but it's not like I entertain a lot. But when I do, I have people come in to serve the meal. I don't have time to cook - even to learn how to cook." Doug said, somewhat embarrassed. Miranda smirked.

"What did you serve?" the prosecutor queried.

"Um, salad, you know and chicken marsala with veg. And then I asked Nate to make a dessert omelette at the table." Doug replied.

"Were there leftovers?" Vance asked.

"Well from us, yes. Nate didn't have too much of an appetite. His gut had been bothering him off and on all summer. But we told the waiter from the restaurant to help himself to anything left from the courses," Doug answered. "And then he cleaned up. So there really wasn't anything left in the apartment that night."

"Did you become ill after the meal?" Vance asked.

"No. No, I was fine."

"And the waiter?" Vance continued.

"No. Not at my place and I called the next day and spoke with him - after Nate, you know, came down so sick. But he said he was fine."

"Did you have anything to drink with the meal?" Vance asked.

"Yes. My boss had given me a really nice bottle of pinot noir - a William Selyem - to thank me for some help I'd given him on a deal. It was a little young but I thought it would pair well with the chicken marsala."

"Had you drunk any of it before the dinner?" Vance inquired.  
Doug looked slightly offended at the suggestion. "No. I opened it to breathe when Nate arrived and served it with the main course," he said.

"Do the two of you finish it?" Vance asked.

"No. I wasn't drinking - I'm on a new medication for my allergies and if I have anything I fall asleep in five minutes. Nate said he wanted to keep a clear head for his conversation with Andy." He paused and looked at Andy with some embarrassment. "I mean, the defendant. So he only had a glass or two."

"What did you do with bottle?" Vance asked.

"I, um, asked the waiter to put one of those recorkers in it and left it on the kitchen counter. And then, when the police asked. I gave it to them.

"Tell us about dessert," Vance instructed.

"Well, Nate makes - I mean made - this killer dessert omelette with blackberries. I really liked it but I knew he was a little leery of eggs after that whole thing with Andy, the defendant's, dinner. So I went to the Union Square Farmer's market and I got some organic eggs and blackberries and crème fraîche. I have this little table stove thing for making stuff at the table." At the word "stuff," Emily shot Miranda an anxious glance - but for once Miranda did not allow herself to get mired in the details. 

"So all the ingredients were in the fridge and I had laid out the utensils he'd need when I set the table. The waiter brought the eggs and jam and pan in and I lit the burner and Nate made the omelette."

"Was there any left over?" the prosecutor asked.  
Doug looked at her incredulously. "No. It was delicious. We each ate ours and Nate had made extra for the waiter. He had his in the kitchen when he was cleaning up."

"And, as far as you know, the omelette did not make you ill?"

"No, nothing made me ill." Doug answered.

"And the waiter?" Vance asked.

"Well he said he was fine the next day.

"Did you serve coffee with dessert?"

"I did. I like Turkish coffee. So I had the waiter make me some in the kitchen and bring it out with a bottle of Drambuie. Nate had the liqueur - just a tot, but not the coffee. Nate said And...the defendant was going to make some for him. We laughed. And...the defendant couldn't cook to save her soul, but nobody made better coffee than Andy."

"What happened to the bottle of Drambuie?" Vance asked.

"Well, that night, after Nate left, it was in the kitchen. The waiter had corked it again and left it on the counter. So I put it back in the liqueur cabinet. When the police asked for it I gave it to them." 

The lights came back up and Vance turned to the jury. I remind you of the testimony of Mr. Rand, the coroner's forensic chemist. The wine and the Drambuie were tested. There had been no additions to the bottles of any sort. The waiter and Mr. Templeton suffered no ill effects from the dinner. Nothing in Mr. Templeton's apartment made Mr. Cooper ill."

She wait again and after a pause, asked softly. "So what made Mr. Cooper sick?" You heard Mr. Templeton's testimony that Mr. Cooper called a cab and went to the defendant's apartment. You heard the testimony of Mr. Ahmed, that Mr. Cooper seemed fine in his cab and neither ate nor drank anything. You heard the defendant's own testimony that Mr. Cooper seemed fine when he arrived at her apartment. What happened next?" The lights lowered again. The clip began again. Andy was speaking to Ambrosino and the uniformed in the interview room.

"I served him coffee." she said.

"Was it waiting for him when he got there?" Ambrosino asked.

"No he had called from the cab and I timed it so it would be time to plunge the filter the minute he came in." 

"So he didn't see you prepare the press pot?"

"No." She looked confused in the clip. Not understanding the direction of the questions.

"Did you offer him anything to eat?" 

"Yes. I had stopped to pick up some cookies on the way home that night. But he didn't want any. He said he and Doug had a big dinner and all he wanted was the coffee."

"Which you served him."

"Yes."

"So the only thing he had at your place was the coffee."

"Yes."

"Then what happened." Ambrosino asked.

"Well we caught up a bit. We hadn't seen each other in a few weeks. And he told me how things at the restaurant were going."

"Did you talk about anything else?" the defendant asked.

"He asked me to get back together."

"How'd you answer him?"

"I said no. I'd always love him but we had grown too far apart. We made great sense as friends but we wanted different things from life."

"How he respond."

"He seemed sad. He said he understood but he was sorry. I said I was sorry to."

"Why?"

"Why what.""Why were you sorry?" Ambrosino asked. Andy paused and considered her words for a moment.

"Oh I think when we came to New York, we were so tight. We were a team. We were going to conquer the world together. And then it turned out we had different worlds to conquer. And I don't have that sense of being on a team with anyone. Maybe you can't have that after a certain point in your life. Maybe even your partners and lovers and spouses are simply allies. But we had that when we first came here. And I miss it."  
Emily wrote on her pad, "Little Girl All Grown Up." But Miranda pursed her lips and shook her head in disagreement. "A couple of romantics," Emily thought with disgust. "No wonder they always clicked." 

On the video, Ambrosino seemed a bit embarrassed the sincerity of Andy's answer. "Well, fine. Ok. Back to the timeline. What happened when you were done talking?"

"About 10 he said he wasn't feeling well and had to go. So he called a cab and left. It was the last time I saw him." She started to cry but the clip ended abruptly and the lights rose. Vance walked again to her place before the jury box.

"You will recall," she said, "that the defendant testified at trial that she felt fine after the defendant left. No stomach distress at all. Of course, she doesn't drink coffee at home, does she. The defendant then returned to Mr. Templeton's apartment. You heard the cabbie, Mr. Oyola, testify that Mr. Cooper seemed quiet ill in the cab. He complained that his stomach bothered him and groaned several times in distress. You heard Mr. Templeton testify that when Mr. Cooper entered his apartment he was deathly pale and perspiring badly." A new video clip. Lights down.

"And then what did you do."

"Well I put him to bed and brought him some pepto. He laughed and wondered what An...the defendant put in her coffee."

"Indeed," said Vance. "Did the pepto help?

"No he vomited it right up. I wanted to call a doctor or an ambulance but he wouldn't let me."

"Did he get better over the course of the evening?" "No, worse. I heard him get up several times to vomit and in the morning when I looked in on him he seemed different. Passed out. So I said screw your heterosexual manly fortitude and called an ambulance. And they came and took us to the ER." The lights came up and Vance turned to the jury.

"You will recall the testimony of the ER physician, Dr. Walker. Mr. Cooper moved in and out of consciousness for several hours. He frequently vomited. He suffered from acute diarrhea. Mr. Templeton called Ms. Goodwin. It was to her that Mr. Cooper spoke his final words. Lights down, clip playing. Lily in the witness box. Tears streamed down her face.

"He said, 'Hey Lils,' I think this is it. Who knew?" she testified. "And I said, Oh Nate you'll get better. And he said No, no I don't think so. Tell Andy I'm sorry. I really did love her. I just didn't realize how angry she was with me." Now Lily began to sob uncontrollably. The clip ended and Vance regarded the jury solemnly. 

"With those words," she said in a quiet, solemn tone, Mr. Cooper fell unconscious, and after a few hours, into a coma, and after a few hours more, he died.


	5. Chapter 5

Miranda leaned over and touched Emily's arm, nodding at the iPad. Emily handed the tablet to her, pulled up the note pad app and began to peck out a message. "Go back to the office." Emily gasped. Miranda sighed and began to type again. "It's all blah, blah, blah from the prosecutor now. No new information. The judge will break for lunch before that public defender makes a closing for Andréa." 

"Have Nigel come down in your place. Make a lunch reservation for us at the place I like in Tribecca. You will join us. Emily sternly quieted the little voice in her mind which waspishly observed that the first time she had been invited to join Miranda's inner circle was to save Andy's now boney ass from yet another disaster. Instead, she quivered with excitement.   
Miranda continued typing orders. "Be sure Roy is waiting outside from 11:00 am on. Call Cara and tell her it will be 3 or 4 at dinner. Call McLeod and see if he can join us, if not we'll Skype him in. Call Jimmy, too and see if he can come by for dinner. If either are coming tell Cara to up the number. Call what's her name and tell her to be outside this courtroom door in 15 minutes with some decent stationary. My personal stationary. She can text me when she gets here. Tell her to reschedule all of tomorrow - I'll want the run throughs we'll have missed today and tomorrow first thing. Then send her to Michael Kors for those skirts I want. I want you to take a first pass at the Book tonight and tomorrow. Make an index of all your edits so I can look over your work." It took all of Emily's effort to prevent a huge, Andy-like, idiotic grin of happiness from crossing her face. She nodded firmly, reclaimed the iPad from Miranda and slipped quietly out of the courtroom.

Miranda closed her eyes for a moment and shut Vance's voice, which was painstakingly linking elements of the charge and and evidence of the crime from her mind. Miranda knew Vance was dotting 'i's and crossing 'T's at this point. Either the jury bought the drama of her means motive and opportunity speech or they did not. The current verbiage was for the sake of a record on appeal.

Did they buy it, Miranda wondered. She opened her eyes and considered the twelve. Several Wall Street types. All earning enough to wear decent suits. A lanky young man, tattooed and muscled who must have been a bicycle messenger. Some office assistant and school teacher types. The profession of others were less easily discernible. An older man, gruff and angry looking. He looks, Miranda decided, like someone who lost a business in the last recession. Probably not a good thing for the defense. Finally one juror, a rather prim looking woman. She was younger than Miranda, but looked a bit older than her actual years with a few wrinkles and crow's feet. Her was cut short but not stylishly so. Her clothes screamed sensible not couture, but Miranda, nevertheless smiled to see her. If Emily Van Alstrom was on the jury, there would be no railroading. Miranda had tried her very best to railroad her, the very first Emily, many years ago and had failed miserably. Miranda was confident that the prosecutor would fair no better.

#

Her cell phone vibrated quietly and Miranda pulled it out of her bag and read the text, "Outside." She stood and gathered her coat and bag and quietly exited the courtroom.

The hallway seemed shockingly noisy in comparison to the courtroom. Lawyers were running, assistants walking quickly while texting. A few police officers stood by, surveying the scene with interest. Miranda spotted the girl and nodded. The second assistant scuttled over and handed Miranda two items. The first was a folder containing some of Miranda's private stationary. The second was an envelope. Miranda looked at it and quirked her eyebrow.

"It's my letter of resignation, Miranda," the second assistant explained.  
"Oh?" Miranda's eyebrow arched.

"Yes, I," the girl paused. "I'm not cut out for this business. No matter how hard I try, I don't do my job well. And I want a job I do well."

"Do you have any idea of what you'd like to do?" Miranda asked, both her calm response and her real interest surprising the girl.

"Well," I had always wanted to write for National Geographic...but." The girls voice trailed off.

"But Rupert bought the thing and almost immediately set to turning it into a mockery of its former self? Miranda finished for her.

"Wait a second," Miranda, raised her hand as if to stop the girl. "I need to think for a moment." Miranda began to pace, five feet forward and five back in front of her almost former assistant.

"Yes, Miranda." the girl said meekly. After a few moments, Miranda suddenly stopped and hit the speed dial on her cell phone.

"Emily, text me Christina Choi's number." She smiled almost happily at the assistant who was confident that she had entered the twilight zone. In a few seconds the phone beeped. A few minutes later, she began to speak.

"Christina, darling, how are you?...Oh, always busy...Yes, the girls are fine, doing very well in fact...Yes, well I don't want to talk away your day, but I have an idea I want to float past you.....My second assistant is quite good but, quite frankly, miserable in the world of couture. She's one of your people, green earth shoes type. I was wondering if I sent her over to you this afternoon, if you'd consider her for an assistant position. I think with the right mentoring she could grow into a writer you'd be proud of, Christina. Alexa Armendarez-Perez. Yes. Yale cum laude. Undergraduate awards, etc. 2:00pm. Wonderful. She'll be there. See you at the gala."

"You know my name," Alexa whispered after Miranda finished the girl.

"I've always known your name, dear. I take it you have a current copy of your resume ready. You wouldn't have resigned unless..."Her voice trailed off as Alexa began to nod vigorously. "And," Miranda continued, "you have a readily available portfolio." Alexa continued to nod. "Fine. Go back to the office. Print out what you need to. Go to Serena and tell her to give you an appropriate outfit. Then go to that interview and crunchy granola your heart out. I can open the door. But you have to do the work to get across the threshold."

"Yes," Miranda, the girl said weakly. "But why?"

Miranda smiled again - not the alligator smile that haunted Christina's dreams, but a rueful, teasing grin. "Alexa, darling," you have the gift of impeccable timing. I believe in nurturing and rewarding such gifts. Now, off with you. You have a lot to do and not much time. Take this back," she said handing back the unopened envelope, "and put yourself in my schedule for Monday morning. We'll finish sorting this out then."  
"Yes, Miranda," the girl said, barely containing her excitement, but wise enough to squelch an impulse to hug her boss. She turned and flew down the corridor of the courtroom building towards the elevators, her heels clacking happily as she ran.

#

When Miranda returned to her seat in the courtroom, Vance was still delivering her closing statement. There were tripod stands set up to hold posters that delineated the evidence in the record under each element of the charge. Many members of the jury were taking notes.  
"Not much longer." Miranda though to herself. She thought for a moment and then rummaged in her Bentley tote for a pen and the current issue of Runway, which would have to serve as her lap desk. She place the stationery on the magazine and then closed her eyes and leaned her head back for a moment. After she had gathered her thoughts, she opened her eyes and began to write.

"Andrea," she began, "I only learned this morning of your dreadful situation. I came at once to offer you my support and demonstrate my unwavering belief in your innocence. Emily came because I directed her to, but, as it happens, she also believes in your innocence. Nigel will be here soon to show you his support and to size you up. I will have him deliver some outfits he deems appropriate to your attorney. I'm sorry we can't get them for you today, but it might seem a bit discordant to appear in different outfits on the dame day. Although I am not sure that your current garb is accurately described by the word, 'outfit.' You will, however, be able to face the jury after the closing statements wearing something acceptable. Do not worry about Nigel going over the top. I will direct him to choose something situationally appropriate."

"I realize that we parted on less than optimal terms, but I hope that my recommendation to the Mirror showed you that I accept a great deal of responsibility for your decision to leave Runway. " 

"I have great confidence in your vindication and wish to support you in any way that you deem acceptable. I shall deliver this note to your lawyer and ask him to arrange for me to visit you as soon as possible. Please allow me to visit you, Andrea. My girls are heartsick that you are in this situation and would be thrilled if I could report that I had spoken with you. As for myself, it would give me the utmost pleasure simply to converse with you."

"Nigel has just arrived and sends you his love. He says to tell you that while he prefers his models in size 0, he prefers his Six as a size six.   
Despite earlier unhelpful statements to the contrary on my part, I concur in his assessment."

"Despite the horrible circumstances, it has done me much good to see you. Miranda."

She reread her words, tapping the end of the pen against her lower lip before closing it and putting it away. Then, with an almost teary glance at Nigel, folded the letter and put it in an envelope. 

"The People demand that you convict the author of this horrible crime," the prosecutor concluded her peroration and walked crisply back to her seat. The courtroom lights were up, as was the noontime sun, which blazed through the high windows, revealing motes of dust dancing in its arcs of light. Justice Hall looked over the courtroom, scanning the trial participants and the jury, but also considering the throng in the spectators session He smiled slightly.

"I believe that now would be a good time for lunch. Let us reconvene at 2:00pm. He stood, his clerk but a moment behind him, shouting out 'all rise." Everyone in the courtroom stood, but held their thoughts until the door that separated Justice Hill's chambers from his courtroom closed behind the departing judge and clerks. Then a symphony of conversation broke out among the spectators. Miranda shook her head at the noise, and watched in sadness as the guards came forward to shackle Andrea again and remove her from the court room. She stole one glance at Miranda and Nigel. The sight of Nigel cause her to grin a little and he winked at her. 

When the door closed behind her, Miranda leaned over and whispered, "I want you to clear a path for me to the defense attorney's table.." Nigel nodded and Miranda followed in his wake as he jostled and pushEd the milling spectators out of their way. Finally, Miranda, leaned over the fence separating the the space reserved for the courtroom actor from that reserved for their audience.

"Mr. Lermberger," said in a voice that despite its low intonation, immediately caught the lawyer's attention. He turned quickly to Miranda.   
"I am...," she began.

"I know who you are Ms. Priestly. Ms. Sachs explained your history when she saw you in the courtroom. Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda observed Latoya Vance observing the exchange with undisguised curiosity.

"Yes, well. Good." Miranda said, a bit flustered. "Mr. Lermberger, would you be so kind as to deliver this letter to your client. I don't know the rules of the court for such exchanges, but I have no objection to the letter being read or examined by the appropriate officials." Lermberger took the envelope from her, staring at it with a speculative air as Miranda continued.

"I would also ask, Mr. Lermberger, if Andréa agrees, for you to arrange an opportunity for me to visit her as soon as possible."

Lermberger nodded. "I'll speak to Andy when I see her next." Is there anything else Ms. Priestly he asked brightly.

"Well yes, actually." Miranda said. "I'm not sure why you allowed her to appear before the jury in her prison garb." Lermberger cut her off.

"Ms. Priestly, we have a rack of clothes for our clients to wear at trial. None of them are in Andy's size. And quiet frankly, we don't have the time or budget to go shopping for them."

"Yes, well," said Miranda, who felt curiously uncertain in the conversation. "I've asked my colleagues to send over some outfits."

"Ms. Priestly," the lawyer began to interrupt.

"Yes, yes, I know," Miranda said, speaking over him. "Situationally appropriate. If I have to I'll send someone to the Gap, god help us."

"That would be very generous of you, Ms. Priestly." Lermberger said with an easy smile.

"Fine," said Miranda. "But you must call me Miranda, everyone does. You must also come to dinner this evening. I'm summoning a council of war on Andréa's behalf and your presence would speed the work immensely." 

Lermberger gaped at her. "Come, come, Mr. Lermberger. "The closing arguments will have concluded. You'll have no pressing emergencies from your office until the jury returns. Please, do come. My assistant will contact you with the necessary information." With that she turned and strode out of the courtroom, Nigel following closely behind.

#

Lermberger was the last to arrive at the townhouse that evening. Miranda herself greeted him and managed to be gracious despite the fact that he had arrived precisely at the time Emily had indicated and not fifteen minutes before. She smiled slightly as he handed her a small gift box of chocolates from Li-Lac and stuttered, "Thank you so much for your invitation, Miranda."

"Thank you, Mr. Lermberger." She put the box on the hall table. 

"Solly, please." He said.

"You really shouldn't have Saul. But I suspect my daughters will be enthusiastically appreciative." She took his coat, hung it up and led him up the stairs to the living room.

"Andy said the girls liked their chocolate." He explained.

"Andréa always had a soft spot for my children." Miranda said, leading him into the living room. "Everyone, this is Andréa's attorney, Saul Lermberger. For reasons known best to those who know him best, he prefers to be called 'Solly." People laughed and Miranda called out to her ex-husband. "Jimmy, darling, get Saul a drink while I introduce him." She took him round the circle, introducing Nigel, Emily, her ex-husband and father of the twins, Professor James Schermerhorn, Lily Chair of Organic Chemistry at Columbia University and McLeod Robertson, her attorney.

"Have we met before, Saul," Robertson asked. "You look very familiar."

"You were the trial judge at the Mock Trial Competition at NYU my last year of law school, sir. It's a real honor to meet you again."

"Let me think, McLoud said, bending his head back and closing his eyes in concentration. Robertson was one of those men who aged well. His hair, once chestnut had aged to a thick, wavy white which he wore brushed back over a high forehead, a bit too long. He had broad shoulders and a sturdy frame that bore well his weight, shy of paunchy, but little left of the slender bearing of his youth.

Lermberger was nervous. McLeod looked every inch the powerful lawyer that he was. Saul reviewed the far greater amount of information he knew about Robertson than that Robertson knew of him. He was chair of the litigation department at Cadwalader, Wickersham and Taft, a law firm that could trace its origins back to the earliest days of the republic. Robertson had counseled presidents, headed blue ribbon commissions, and guided his firm through the rapidly changing and often treacherously competitive terrain of legal practice in Manhattan. 

"Ah, I've got it." McLeod said after a moment, opening eyes and looking at Solly with a genial smile. "State v. Gomez. Felony murder case involving a juvenile. You were the lead. But your partner gave the closing argument. A young woman. Morrison, Morrisy?"

"Moriarty," sir.

"Now just stop there, Solly." If I'm to resist Miranda's habit of addressing you as Saul, you'll have to call me, Mac." 

"Alright, Mac. "Lucy Moriarty was my partner in the mock trial. "She's at Morrison and Forester in San Francisco now. Just named a junior partner."

"But you opted to stay in New York and litigate for a pittance, I see." Mac said grinning.

"Well, I wanted to do trials and I'd never get the chance in a firm." Solly said, a bit defensively.

"You're absolutely right." Said Mac with a ready grin. "The whole point of private practice is to avoid trials. Clients hate them."

"I know that I do," Miranda said with a shudder. An awkward silence enveloped the room. The divorce proceedings between Miranda and Steven were famously contentious. Miranda, smiled, somewhat grimly, and said, "But enough of my past travails. We have Andréa's present predicament to consider. And I insist we do it over a decent meal. Jimmy, could you take me in." 

Professor Schermerhorn rolled his eyes, and then with exaggerated courtesy bowed slightly and said to Miranda, "Ma'am, you do me a very great honor." Now Miranda rolled her eyes and took his preferred arm.

"Will the girls join us?" He asked politely. 

"Yes, but just for dinner." Miranda said. "Speaking to the others, she said, "Caroline and Cassidy know about Andréa's trial. And I'm sure they'll have a thousand questions. But I'd prefer we didn't go into the details until after dinner. I'll send them to their rooms with dessert so we can talk." The others nodded and began taking seats as Miranda walked over to an intercom in the wall. "Girls," she said, pressing the buttons to their rooms, "time for dinner." She released the button and turned to smile at their father, her ex-husband and oldest friend. "Please try not to run," she began, 

"Like a horde of ravaging Visigoths," he finished. His words were lost in the pounding of steps and squeals of "Daddy, Daddy. How are you?" The ran to either side of his chair and threw their arms around him. 

"Ah, my Visigoths. It's so good to see you." The girls grinned and each pecked him on a cheek before taking their seats. Caroline looked around the table and then, obviously compensating for the manner of their arrival with a display of manners her mother would appreciate said, "Uncle Nigel, how are you? Emily, it's good to see you again." She looked at Lermberger curiously and said. "I'm sorry sir, we haven't met and I don't know your name. Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Caroline Priestly."

"And I'm Cassidy, and hi, everyone." Nigel chuckled.

"Caroline, Cassidy," Miranda said, "this is Mr. Lermberger, Andréa's lawyer."

"How do you do, Mr. Lermberger," Caroline said primly. Her father grinned at her. She was her mother to the nines. 

"Please, call me Solly. The only people who ever call me Mr. Lermberger are judges." 

"Your Andy's lawyer?" Cassidy interrupted as dishes circulated around the table. "How is she? How were the closing arguments? Are you going to get her off? She'd never have done it, you know."

Solly didn't, in fact, know that. He'd been working the homicide section in the Public Defender's Office for the last year, but in the six previous years he had served in general crimes, he had rarely enjoyed the luxury of representing an innocent client.

"That's been the goal," Solly replied with a smile that was a tad patronizing.

"Goals are only interesting if they are achieved, Solly," Cassidy said tartly. Solly snapped his gaze to the other twin. It was was looking through those 3D lens only to discover your eyes couldn't make them focus.

"Cassidy," Miranda said automatically, "tone." 

"I'm sorry, Solly," said Cassidy. "I didn't mean to be impertinent.

"No. Uh. No. Uh, perfectly alright," the lawyer said."

"I just want to know how the closings went." Cassidy continued.

"We read about them in the paper this morning." Caroline explained.

"Well, uh," Solly began, "the prosecutor went this morning."

"Who was it," Mac asked with interest. "Miranda the chicken is amazing."

"Thank you, Mac. But I deserve no credit. Cara does all the work. I just serve the courses and collect the compliments." The guests laughed appropriately and then Miranda added, "The prosecutor was Latoya Vance. Do you know her?"

"Oh, just to say hello to at a continuing legal Ed course. I understand she's good."

"She's very good," said Miranda grimly. "Didn't you think so Saul."

"I did. I did." She has this nack in circumstantial cases of getting all the evidence in and then weaving these pot boiler stories that juries love." He sounded glum.

"That was certainly her m.o. this morning said Miranda. "Your own closing seemed to focus on reasonable doubt and circumstantial evidence."

"Well that's what I had to work with," Solly said, defensive again.

"How long have you been in the homicide section at the PD's Office, Solly? Mac asked.

"A year sir. This is my third homicide trial." 

"Why did Andy get a public defender," Caroline asked. "Couldn't she afford a real lawyer like Mac?"

Emily almost choked on a green bean and as she spoke, Professor Schermerhorn turned to his daughter with a frown. "Caroline, Solly is a real lawyer and quiet a good one, too if he's been promoted to the homicide section." Caroline squirmed as she understood she had disappointed her father.

"Besides, Bobbsey," very few people can afford lawyers like Mac, and those people are rarely charged with murder."

"I'm sorry, sir...Solly," she said. I didn't' mean to be rude."

"No, no," Solly said waiving a hand. "It's quite alright. "For most crimes, if you can afford it, it probably makes sense to get an attorney who has fewer clients than we do and more resources to devote to a case. But like your mother said, that can be very expensive. But murder cases are different. Prosecutors and public defenders receive all sorts of special training and they become quite good at handling those cases because they are the only kind of cases they work on."

"Is that why Andy had you?" Cassidy asked. "Because you're a specialist?"

"Well I wouldn't quite say that," Solly temporized. "The Mirror fired her. Her parents declined to pay for a lawyer and that left me."

"Her parents declined?" Emily asked, shocked.

"Yes, um. I'm a bit uncomfortable about talking about this. But apparently her parents blamed her when Nate left her the first time and the were furious when she broke up with him the second time."

"That's rather stern," said Professor Schermerhorn, observing the shock on his daughters' faces.

"Yes. But their son is still in college and they also felt like they owed it to him to pay his costs the same way they had paid Andy."

"Well," said Miranda in a slow drawl that everyone around the table but Solly knew signified great anger, "I'm actually sympathetic about the financial issues, but they weren't present at the closing arguments. Did they attend the trial at all?"

"No," Solly admitted quietly.

"Wow," said Cassidy, that's really harsh.

"Yeah," Caroline echoed. "Harsh."

Miranda smiled and said brightly, "Bobbsey, don't worry. If you are ever so foolish as to be erroneously charged with murder, I assure you that I will attend every day of the trial."

"Even if it falls during Fashion Week?" Cassidy asked.

"Cassidy, your mother will of course persuade the judge to schedule the trial so that it doesn't conflict with Fashion Week," he said with mock solemnity.

Miranda snorted. "And I promise you girls, your father would leave his smelly lab and tedious grant proposals as well."

"So," said Caroline slowly, "if we get charged with murder you'll both be there every day."

"Yes, that's right." said Miranda.

"Note to self," said Cassidy, "Don't get charged with murder." Nigel and her father laughed. 

"Yes, Bobbsey, that seems like a rather good idea." Miranda said dryly. "Do you know what else seems like a good idea?"

"For the fortunate children to show appreciation by clearing the table," asked Caroline in a tone as dry as her mother's. 

"Precisely." Miranda said and smiled sweetly. The good news is that Saul brought Li-Lac chocolates. They're downstairs on the hall way table. You may take them to the tv room after the dishwasher's loaded.

"Li-Lac?" Cassidy asked gaily. "Solly, you're a gem! Dad, are you done eating?" 

"Of course, Mother." Caroline answered in a tone that to Emily sounded suspiciously like her own "yes, Miranda."

The table erupted in laughter. "May I ask the rest of you to join me in the living room for coffee and dessert? She led them from the rooms as the girls began to load trays on the dumb waiter.


	6. Chapter 6

"So, Miranda," Mac asked once everyone was seated near a convenient table with a drink and slice of framboise tort. "What is your game plan?"

"I thought first that we should talk first of the proper way to join forces with Saul." Miranda replied.

"Are you talking about an appeal?" Solly asked.

"Possibly," Miranda answered, "but I rather think that there will be a retrial." She turned to Emily. "Emily Van Alstrom is on the jury." Emily actually gasped.

"Miranda," Mac interrupted, have you actually tampered with a jury in a capital case?"

"No, Mac." Miranda replied with a chuckle. "Although if I had learned about the matter in time to do so, I'm not sure I can vouch for what my behavior would have been."

"Well, then," said Professor Schermerhorn, "let us be grateful for our non-felonious good fortune." He paused for a moment and almost looked wistful. "Emily Van Alstrom," he continued. "That's a name I haven't heard in many a year."

Miranda looked at him affectionately. "I know darling. It's been quite awhile, hasn't it."

"Ok." Said Mac. "I will bite. Who is Emily Van Alstrom."

"Emily," said Miranda, "was the first Emily. She was my very first, first assistant."

"Oh, of course," said Nigel, suddenly remembering.

"I promise you Mac, and you too, Saul. I did not know she was on this jury and I have not spoken a word to her since the trial began. But I will tell you this. She has more integrity and good sense in her little finger than that possessed by the entire prosecutorial staff in this case."

"Oh, Miranda," said Solly, "Ms. Vance is above reproach." 

"Well," said Miranda, "then she's an idiot. "Miranda didn't do it and Emily will be happy to hang that jury if that's what justice requires."

"I have to say," said Professor Schermerhorn, "in this matter, at least, I entirely agree with Miranda. Everything in the trajectory of Emily's life suggests that she'll follow her conscience - and no one in good conscience could believe that Andy Sachs would kill anyone."

"Pardon me, Miranda," said Emily timidly.

"Yes, Emily," said Miranda a bit impatiently. "Speak up."

"Well, just what is Emily Van Alstrom doing these days? I have never heard her name in connection with any designer or magazine," the current First Assistant asked.

Professor Schermerhorn barked out a laugh and every set of eyes in the room turned to him. But it was Miranda who answered. "Emily Van Alstrom became a lay Anglican nun after she left Runway. She runs a shelter for abused women in the Bowery." Mac began to laugh and suddenly couldn't stop himself. Professor Schermerhorn joined him and suddenly the two were helpless. Even Nigel and Emily dared a few chuckles. Poking her tongue insider her chin to force back her own laughter, Miranda said sternly. "Alright, alright. I have that effect on some of them. Look at Andréa. Emily at least had the courtesy...."  
Miranda too, at last submitted to the humor of the revelation and had to wheeze the last of her sentence out. "Courtesy to finish out her year before she discovered her vocation."

At this Schermerhorn almost whooped. The only one in the room who failed to laugh was Saul. He looked confused at first and then resentful. Emily saw this first and caught Miranda's eye. She gave an almost imperceptible nod toward the public defender and Miranda quickly took control of herself.

"Alright, alright, gentlemen. Enough for the trip down memory lane. We need to focus on the task at hand. "Mac," what must we attend to first."

"Well," said Mac judiciously, "all of this depends on Andy's agreement.

"Of course," said Miranda. "Her tone was not impatient, however, Emily noted. If anything it was nervous. 

"Can she really think that Andy would refuse her help?" Emily wondered. "I don't care what happened in Paris - a subject about which Andy refused to answer questions and no one dared to question Miranda. The girl's on trial for her life."

"I agree," said Solly, although no one had asked him. "But Miranda, I should tell you that Andy was quite receptive to seeing you. As soon as I can make arrangements." 

Nigel observed a brilliant smile flash across Miranda's face before she cooly responded to Solly. "Excellent." Nigel wasn't fooled, however. Miranda had been worried that Andy wouldn't see her and she was thrilled now that she knew Andy would.

Mac, unruffled by the interruption, continued. "And of course, Solly, it's a bit ambiguous until we get something from the jury." Solly nodded in agreement.

"But I have a fleet of young attorneys who'd be thrilled with a criminal pro bono case to put at your disposal. If you put me on the case as 'of counsel', then I believe we can put those eager beavers to work.

"Yes," Solly agreed, "but, you realize of course, that there's no work right now." Mrs. Lermberger didn't raise any fools, and Solly didn't want to be muscled off the case, particularly as it now seemed to be far more interesting than the "Girl kills boyfriend in lover's quarrel" that he had taken it for. On the other hand, he didn't want to annoy one of the most powerful lawyers in the city.

"Sure, sure." Mac said easily. "But I could get my kids started reviewing the discovery and motions. Whether it's appeal or retrial, you'll want to have them ready. 

"True," Solly temporized. But Mac cut him off. 

"We can send a team over to digitize your files. They'd be in and out of there in a day or two."

Solly offered a bland smile. "We actually have all our files digitized now. The PD has entered the 20th century," he said wryly.

"Oh, great." said Mac.

"I'm just thinking of the best work flow. "I'll need to talk with my client. Then I'll have to get you put on the case as an attorney of record. Then we'll have to establish a secure server to share the documents. Then we'll..."

"Why don't I send one of my paralegals over to the courthouse tomorrow with the representation agreement. I won't be much help to you on the technical side."

"But Emily will," said Miranda. Emily smiled brightly. "She's forever setting up servers for me to use when I'm reviewing the work of designers from Asia and Europe." 

"I can swing by your office in the morning, Mac." Emily said. "If you leave the agreement with your receptionist, then I can take to the courthouse, have Solly sign it and talk about our options for a secure server."

"Emily," said Mac, smiling in relief. "You are a jewel. I know Miranda will never tell you that, but you are." 

Emily blushed and muttered, "you are too kind." But her words were drowned out by Miranda, who objected.

"That's utter nonsense, Mac. I told Emily she was a jewel as recently as 2007." They all laughed. "Then Miranda asked, "Now how are Jimmy and I going to get access to the server?"

"The Professor will be easy," Solly said. "I'll retain him as a pro bono expert for the arsenic issues."

Professor Schermerhorn nodded and said. "Yes, it would be a great help for me to read all the analyses and reports as soon as possible."

"Of course," said Solly. "Miranda, I'm afraid you'll be more difficult to enroll on the team formerly." Miranda's eyes widened. "Well," Solly explained. "There are no fashion issues in the case for you to be an expert on and you're not an attorney, so I can't sign you on as pro bono counsel, can I."  
"You're the expert in all matters legal, Saul," said Miranda in a dangerously even voice. "You tell me."

"Perhaps," Emily said, quickly intervening to protect Solly, "Miranda and I can volunteer to be pro bono paralegals working under Mac's supervision."

Professor Schermerhorn laughed out loud. "Been a while since you've worked under anyone's supervision, hasn't it, Miranda."

Miranda paused and considered her possible reactions and their possible consequences.

"Don't be silly, Jimmy," she said coquettishly. "I take directions very well. Just ask Irv." As the party broke into laugher, she turned to Solly and said, "this will be acceptable, but I'd prefer to keep as low a profile as long as possible." 

"Of course, Miranda," Solly agreed, hoping that Emily could explain everything to him in the morning.

"Miranda, I see what everyone else will be doing on this case. But, what is my job?" Nigel asked.

"Besides managing Runway in my absence?" she asked sweetly.

"Uh, yes." Nigel insisted. "Just why am I here?"

"Oh, Nigel," Miranda smiled. "You may have the most difficult job of all. Someone has to do something about poor Andréa's wardrobe. She'll need a complete wardrobe in just a few days. And let's be honest. "That jailhouse orange does no one any favors."


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning saw Miranda at the courthouse, listening disinterestedly to the Justice's charge to the jury. After they retired to the jury room for deliberation Miranda stepped into the hallway outside the courtroom in order to summon Emily to meet with Solly.

"I'm going for coffee," she heard the court reporter say to the police offer outside the courtroom. "Can I get you one?"

"You think you'll have enough time," the cop asked with a laugh.

"Sure," said the court reporter. "They always want to stay for the lunch."

"Get their money's worth, eh?" the policeman said. "Ok. I say they're done by 2:00." 

"Five bucks and the next coffee run's on you," the court reporter replied.   
"3:30. They won't want to seem to eager." Both men laughed and the court reporter slipped down the stairs.

Emily summoned, Miranda went back to her seat in the court room. She pulled an iPad from her bag and began to look at a digital version of the Book, studying the edits that Emily had suggested. She rejected a few, but generally was pleased with Emily's work. It was time to send that girl on to Nigel. She would need her for the next week or two, until things with Andréa settled down.

"I don't believe it," the court reporter said at 4:00pm. "They're really making a show of it."

"Don't worry," said the cop. I'll get the next one, anyway."

"Anyway?" laughed the cop. "You were out of at at 2:00pm." 

The court reporter looked at his phone. "I gotta go. The Justice is calling them back in."

No, the jurors had not reached a verdict. No they did not think that staying late would allow them to reach a verdict that evening. No, they would not follow news coverage of the trial or discuss the trial or their deliberations with anyone over the weekend. Yes, they would be back bright and early Monday morning.

#

On Monday, Page 6 reported that Miranda had attended the Donna Karan gala fundraiser for Ovarian Cancer, wearing a black velvet, off the shoulder Valentino floor length gowns on Saturday evening. She stayed for 45 minutes and was escorted to the event by her long time legal advisor, McLeod Robertson. On Sunday, Miranda was seen at the Cafe d'Alsace with her daughters, enjoying Sunday brunch. 

By Monday morning at 9:00, Solly had filed the papers adding Mac's firm to the case. Emily, who spent the weekend reviewing the Book and riding herd on the Ellis-Clark IT department, was exhausted but proud as the week began. When Professor Schlemerhorn arrived at his laboratory, he found an email with instructions on how to log on to the secure server with the case files. He pulled up the forensic analysis and began to read.  
Miranda, sitting in the courtroom, after watching the jury walking into the jury room began to read an extensive file on the cases of notorious arsenic murders in the last century. It was disturbingly long.  
When she took a break at 10:30, she found the court reporter chatting with the police man.

"Naw, they won't want to stay for a second round of roast beef sandwiches. I say, one more hour."

Miranda enjoyed lunch at a place she liked in the Village and returned to find the courtroom, which had been virtually deserted in the morning, a bit more crowded. Reporters.

"Dear God, are they fly specking the jury instruction," one of them asked.

At 4:30 pm, when Miranda left the court house, the paparrazzi had arrived.  
"Miranda! Why are you here? Didn't Andy work for you? Did you know the victim?"

#

Page 6 screamed her name as Miranda dressed on Tuesday morning, but the rest of the press had yet to twig to the drama unfolding at the courthouse. Miranda was surprised to find herself uncertain and nervous as she dressed. Just what did one wear to a meeting in a courthouse interview room?

An hour later, the jury was sent to its considerations. Solly stood up and beckoned to Miranda. She walked up the center aisle of the spectator seats and through the half gate of the barrier that marked the business end of the courtroom. As the prosecutor watched with narrowed eyes, Solly led Miranda through the side door that opened into the holding cell. Vance thought snidely to herself, "all the paralegals these days wear Chanel wool suits."

Miranda looked up from her seat at the table in the room at the sound of footsteps, the guard's walking freely, Andréa's shuffling, moving through the corridor that led from the holding cells to the interview room. 

Andy, dressed in black Juicy Couture jeans and a Burberry red, cashmere v-neck pull over sat down at the table before her and waited patiently as the guard rearranged the chains so that one arm was free. The other he locked to a metal hook in the table. 

"Is that absolutely necessary?" Miranda asked in her iciest tone.

"Yes," the guard answered simply and left the room, locking the door behind herself.

Miranda looked at Andréas closely for a moment. Her hair was still a disaster, but otherwise, Nigel's efforts had not been wasted.

"Acceptable," she said softly.

"Of all the gin joints," Andy said with a sad smile.

"Oh, Andréa." Miranda said. "I am so sorry."

"Thank you. Thank you for the letter. You're my first visitor, besides the lawyer, I mean."

"I only found out last week." Miranda explained. "The girls - they want you to know that they are outraged on your behalf and have complete confidence in your vindication, by the way - they saw the article in the Post and told me to fix this mess."

"Miranda," Andy asked, "why are you doing this? I'm not exactly deserving of your sympathy."

"But Andréa, you are," Miranda said. "I've been alone and friendless. It's not a good place to be. Besides, Caroline and Cassidy have decreed...."

Andy cut her off. "No. No joking. Paris. I burned that bridge."

Miranda replied sternly, "Andréa, I never joke about the girls. You know that. But you didn't burn the bridge between us. I wrote you a letter of recommendation for that rag you work for. It's true, neither of us have walked the bridge in the last three years. For my part, I felt guilty and angry with myself. I pushed you away quite forcefully."

"I acted like a child." Andy replied. I see that now. Honestly. I knew, I realized that I'd have to move on from Runway, but running away from you. That was stupid."

"Yes, well," sniffed Miranda, "you know how much I love psychological introspection. I've had my fill for the decade since last Thursday."

At this Andy laughed out loud and Miranda smiled. "Andréa, I'd like to help you. At the very least, I can post bail for you."

"Miranda," Andy said sadly. "Where would I go if you did. The Mirror fired me the day the indictment came down. I lost my apartment. God knows where my things are. I don't have any money. I can't even afford a flop house. I can't let you pay rent on an apartment for me."

"Andréa," Miranda interrupted, cautioning herself to tread softly, "those are details we can sort out. I promise to defer to your wishes if you promise to hear my arguments with an open mind.

Andy looked up at her in surprise.

"Andréa," Miranda said softly. "You are not my assistant any longer, you are my friend. I hope."

"You don't have to hope, Miranda. Of course you're my friend," Andy said.

"One of many, my dear." Miranda said. "Of course, you've chosen friends in the fashion industry, so they are flighty and forgetful and fortunate that in you they have such a forgiving comrade." Miranda leaned forward and put her own hand around Andy's shackled one. "We will fix this, Andréa."

Andy looked down at her hand and then back to Miranda's gaze.  
"Solly says it's basically appeal or hung jury. He's thinking appeal but he said that you thing the jury will hang." 

Miranda nodded. "It will. If they didn't convict you on Friday, they won't convict you now. And those who want to convict won't want this to drag into next week. Still. It would be nice if all of considered the possibility of acquittal. You are obviously innocent. What do I pay my tax dollars for? Honestly."

Andy laughed out loud. "Thank you," she said.

"For stating the obvious? Don't be absurd, Andréa. Now, to business. Mac - he's my lawyer. He's been advising me."

"I know," said Andy. "Solly said something about your council of war. He made it sound like something right out of the Godfather."

"Yes, well," Miranda continued, "Mac tells me that we should wait until after the jury business is done to apply for bail. That means you will have to spend a few more nights...Where are they keeping you?" She asked suddenly.

"At Rikers, in the women's facility. It's not that bad. I've managed thus far, a few more days..." She broke down and began to cry softly. "Of God, to think I might be out soon."

"Shhh," Miranda whispered softly, gently stroking her hand. "You will be. Would you be open to a visit from the girls? They miss you terribly and think that the prison must be very depressing."

"No. No, please Miranda. It's bad enough they're reading about it in the papers, I don't want them to see me...."

Her voice trailed off. "Of course," Miranda said. "Don't worry. Emily said that Thursday would be the earliest I could bring them and since you'll be out on Friday, they shouldn't be too impossible to manage. They miss you."

Andy smiled at the thought of the twins. "They're great kids, Miranda.   
You've done a wonderful job with them." They both heard the guard's footsteps approaching. Miranda grasped both of Andy's hands in hers and held them firmly.

"You be strong. We will fix this. I just need for you to be strong for a few more days. You are not alone. We will fix this."

"Times up," said the guard, entering the room.

"Thank you," Andy whispered, her eyes still glistening from her tears.

Miranda waited until she could no longer hear the horrible shuffling sound of Andy's footsteps before she returned to the courtroom. Her own eyes glistened as she smiled at Solly. "Are they still out?" She asked him. Lermberger nodded.

They chatter of the audience told her as much. More reporters. The time the jury was taking was beginning to generate interest. Her own notoriety probably wasn't helping much. In the hallway outside the courtroom, she pulled out her phone and pressed the speed dial for her second assistant.   
"Meet me at that place I like in Soho for lunch."

"What are they doing in there," the court reporter asked the court guard, "writing a novel?"


	8. Chapter 8

When Miranda returned to the court room after lunch, the press was abuzz. Solly walked over to her seat and explained. "The jury's sent a note out with a question for the judge. He's called the parties back. You know, technically, you're entitled to sit at the counsel's table now. As a paralegal, I mean."

"No, no," said Miranda, waiving him off. "Let's not add a fourth ring to this circus." He nodded and returned to his seat. The guard walked Andy into the courtroom, which again, suddenly stilled. Miranda watched her closely. Andréa's eyes held a poignant mixture of surprise and fear, but not even a glimmer of hope. The jury entered and then the procession from the Justice's chambers. The clerk announced the case. The court reporter and his assistant recorded it. Justice Hill began to speak.

"The jury has asked for a clarification on the nature of the evidence they may consider." He said. Reporters furiously scrawled in notebooks or on tablets. "The question," Hill continued, "reads as follows."

"May the jury consider the deportment and demeanor of the defendant as evidence of her character?" Miranda observed the prosecutor's frown and the public defender's quiet smile. Whatever this was about, it was good for Andréa.

Hill turned to address the jury. "Ladies and Gentleman," he began, "I have put your question to counsel and conducted my own research. It is the conclusion of the court that inasmuch as the defendant gave testimony, and that the jury may consider the demeanor of any witness as evidence, you may consider the demeanor of the defendant as evidence in this case." The foreman of the jury glared at Emily Van Alstrom, who, to her very great credit, did not appear in the least bit smug. Miranda watched Saul lean over and whisper in Andréa's ear.

"Maybe," Miranda thought to herself, "maybe Saul had not been an idiot to allow Andréa to testify." Justice Hill sent the jurors back to their deliberations. The chambers party left the courtroom. The Court Guard returned to shackle Andy. She stood and turned her head to see Miranda. Miranda winked at her and she favored Miranda in return with one of her full blown, high wattage, smiles of happiness. Miranda held her own smile until Andréa had left the courtroom. Then she dropped her head and dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex she had thoughtfully prepared in advance. "Not the mascara," she thought to herself.

Again the courtroom erupted in noisy conversation. "What the hell was that about?" The Daily News asked the writer from the Mirror.  
"Damned if I know," the Mirror replied. At 4:00 pm the Justice summoned the jury back to the courtroom. No, they had not reached a verdict. They were still arguing about the evidence. No, they did not think that they would reach one that evening. Yes, they would not discuss the case with anyone before they reassembled in the morning. 

For the first time, Miranda noted, prosecutor Vance looked not a little worried. She called Nigel as Roy drove her home. He brought her up to speed on events at the magazine and insisted she make several decisions on spreads that had been troubling them. She brought him up to speed on the trial. Finally, Miranda said "Nigel, Andréa can have visitors until 8:00pm on Thursday evening. I don't think either Emily or she would be thrilled at a visit from Emily, but I know Andréa would appreciate your company. Emily knows how to arrange it. That's all." Nigel smiled as he put down the phone.

#

The next morning, the Daily News ran the story below the fold under the headline, "NOT A SLAM DUNK?" Caroline and Cassidy high-fived each other at the breakfast table. Miranda rolled her eyes, but she was not displeased.

In the courtroom she was deep in thought over a six page spread devoted to Ann Klein's new aprés-ski collection, when Saul suddenly appeared at her side. "Miranda," he said, not bothering to mask his excitement. "The jury sent a note to Justice Hill. They say they've hung!"

"Does this mean we can ask for bail today?" Miranda asked. 

"No," said Solly, sadly, "he's going to give them the Allen charge."

"What's an Allen charge when it's at home?" Miranda asked.

"He tells them to try again and send them back to the jury room."

"Oh," Miranda said, suddenly deflated.

"Normally," Solly continued, "I'd be worried. Allen charges really help the prosecutor. But this jury has a mind of its own." When Allen heard Justice Hill read the Allen charge, after the parties had been reassembled, Miranda's heart sank.

"Dear God," she thought. "Why doesn't he just order them to convict." But she stole a glance at Emily Van Alstrom and the firm set of her erstwhile assistant's jaw and the steely glare she offered the Justice as he read heartened Miranda. Emily would not be bullied. Emily had been bullied by the best, Miranda thought wryly. The Justice did not stand a chance. Hill decided to send the jury home early. No, they would not discuss the case with anyone. Yes, they would ignore all media accounts of the case. Yes, they would return in the morning with a renewed spirit to seek a clear decision in the case.

#  
Now the newspapers had the story. Thursday morning when Miranda exited her car in front of the courthouse, a small mob awaited her. She did not so much as favor them with a glance. "You think they'll hang?" The court guard was asking the court reporter.

"Could be." The court reporter replied, opening the door for Miranda and deftly cutting off a few reporters who had hoped to ambush her in the hallway. 

"Thank you," she said graciously and he half bowed in return, smiling slightly. She took her usual place and opened up her iPad. The girls had been besides themselves with excitement at breakfast and she hardly had a chance to look at the papers. When she was done with those, she'd begin to work on a memo outlining her ideas for an electronic edition of Runway. Perhaps she should put Emily in charge of it, rather than sending her off to Nigel. She certainly seemed to understand the finer points of technological infrastructure.

So her morning passed until she left for lunch with Donatella. "They're not sequestered," the court guard was saying to the court reporter as she exited the courtroom. "Maybe they enjoy hashing the case out."

"The Justice hates a hung jury," said the court reporter shaking his head. The afternoon passed much like the morning. At 4:00 pm the jury returned. No they hadn't reached a verdict. No they had no questions on which the judge could instruct him. No. They would not discuss the case with anyone. No, they wouldn't pay any attention to the media accounts of the case. To Miranda's mind, the foreman looked particularly unhappy, but she couldn't be sure and it wouldn't matter if she could.

"All the fires put out?" She asked Nigel after she made her way back to the Runway offices.

"Fires?" He teased. "What fires could there possibly be?" They both laughed. "Nothing beyond the usual," he assured her. "What happened at court today. 

"Nothing." She said. "I don't know whether to be pleased or worried."

"I always choose worry in that situation." He smiled at her.

"I wanted to have a quick chat with you before you saw Andréa tonight." Miranda said. Nigel raised an eyebrow.

"Two items, actually." She continued. "One Andréa, one Emily." 

"Emily?" He asked in surprise.

"Yes. It's time for her to move on. I had been thinking of sending her to you. But I've also been thinking of putting her on an electronic Runway start up. She was so effective working with Saul's IT people and our own. I can always find you someone who know beauty. But I don't know how often I'll find someone who knows beauty and technology."

"Electronic Runway." Nigel said. "Look at you, all cutting edge." She sighed.\

"It's the way the world's going. I don't have a feel for it like I do with magazines, but I'd be a fool to pretend it wasn't happening." 

Nigel nodded in sympathy. "Want my advice?"

"No," Miranda said waspish lay, "I came back here to get my nails done."   
Nigel laughed out loud. When Miranda glared at him he simply smiled and said, "It's good to have you back darling." Miranda laughed a little sheepishly. "I think you can afford to wait on the electronic version. This is the kind of thing you'd rather be trailing edge on than bleeding edge. And Emily needs more management experience. Since I actually, you know, delegate, she'll get it working with me." When Miranda nodded her head equably, he continued. "Parsons must be making their kids study up on all the computer stuff. Hire one of those to replace Emily and you'll be fine."

Miranda frowned. "There's a slight complication there." Nigel looked at her inquiringly. "I'm sending Alexa off to Christina Chu." 

"Alexa?" Nigel asked in surprise. "Our little, incompetent Alexa?" 

"She resigned. She would prefer to save the climate than sell couture."

"She resigned and you didn't blackball her?"

"No. I didn't. She did me a favor, you see. I anticipate that I'll be wanting to hire an assistant soon, and it's always so much easier with HR when you actually have an opening."

"Andy?" Nigel asked hopefully.

"In a word? Yes," Miranda said smiling. Alexa had done me such a favor by quitting that I felt, I don't know, happy, to do her a favor. That's actually the other thing I want to talk to you about."

 

"Andy?"

"Yes. When I spoke with her at the jail she agreed that I could stand bail for her but she seemed reluctant to let me get her an apartment. I've talked to Saul. She definitely need a place to stay and a job for Prescott to let her out. The job part's taken care of, if she'll have the good sense to accept it."

 

"Do you want me to offer her my sofa?" Nigel asked. "I suppose for a few weeks," his voice trailed off.

"No actually, I want you to persuade her to accept the offer of one of my guest rooms for the duration and to accept the job." Miranda replied.  
"Your guest room?" Nigel said shocked. "Miranda, that's quite generous."  
"Not when you love someone," she replied in a quiet voice, looking at her pink Louboutin point-toes.

There was a long pause before Nigel said, "Finally."

"What?" Miranda replied in shock.

"Finally, you figured it out. "I've been watching each of you refuse to admit it for years. God you deserve each other if it took a murder charge to make you willing to acknowledge how much you care about the girl."

"Each of us?" Miranda asked sharply.

"Oh, yes," Juliette. "She's your Romeo and she's got it bad. Neither of you have been on an actual date since Paris, you know." He observed.

"Yes, well," said Miranda, after she meditated on that news for a moment. "I'd prefer to keep this between us, if you don't mind. Not a word to Andéa." Nigel nodded mutely. "But if you could lay on the 'let your friends help you' advice as thick as you can tonight, I'd be grateful.

"Leave it to Nigel Lonelyhearts, darling. I've got this."

Miranda snorted and walked back to her office. "Emily," she said passing her assistant's desk. I'd like to speak with you." Emily squeaked and followers Miranda inside.

"Yes, Miranda." Emily said.

Miranda sat in her chair, coat still on, her purse plopped squarely in the center of her desk.

"I've been quite impressed with you of late." Emily blushed a coppery red. Miranda continued. I'd like to promote you to be Nigel's number 2, but if you'd prefer to work else where, just tell me whom you like me to speak with.

"Nigel's number two?" Emily squeaked again, tears gathering in her eyes.  
"Yes. He's quite open with the idea and he can actually mentor you and help you develop professionally. "I have something in mind for you next but you need the seasoning and Nigel's willing.

"Oh, Miranda," said Emily, "thank you so much."

"Before you go, you'll need to train up a new number 2. Call Parsons. I want someone as proficient in technology as you."

"Does that mean Andy will be your new first assistant?" Emily asked shyly.

"Am I that transparent?" Miranda's hissed in an icy whisper.

"To those who know the two of you well. But Nigel and I may be the only two people in the universe who fit that description."

Miranda barked a laugh. "True enough." She stood up suddenly. "Coat, bag. Text Roy, I'm going home."

"Yes, Miranda." Said Emily.


	9. Chapter 9

"Today?" The court reporter asked the guard as Miranda entered the courtroom.

"Nah. They'll stick it out until tomorrow. If they hang they'll want to make it seem like they were trying hard enough to last the whole week," The guard replied.

Miranda sat and thought about Andy. She thought about how her life seemed to work better when Andréa was in it. She thought about how her children, who liked no one from Runway except Nigel, liked Andréa. She thought about how easy it was to imagine sharing her home with her. It had been a long time since Miranda had felt both exited and uncertain at the same time. She made a mental note to herself not to take it out on Andréa. The clackers, however, warranted no such exemptions. She looked over the Book and Emily's notes. The girl's voice and taste were emerging from the tangle of anxiety and desire to please that Miranda's presence seemed to impose on her. Miranda liked what she saw. She looked over sketches that the Gucci people sent her. Alessandro was on to something with the new men's line. But it needed work. Miranda thought for awhile on how best to make her suggestions without terrifying the young man. He was so new, so green and so promising. He would be worth the effort.

Miranda solved that problem and was about to pick up the next to consider when she felt Saul's presence at her side. "They've sent a note to the Justice." He said quietly. "They've hung. He's calling in the parties. Miranda favored him with the rarest of her gifts, an authentic smile. 

"Thank you, Saul." She put her hand over his and squeezed it gently. Solly suddenly felt like he would climb mountains and cross oceans for Miranda. He grinned at her like a love struck boy, winked and sauntered back to the defense counsel's table. Vance entered the courtroom. For the first time, Miranda realized, she looked tired. The guard brought Andy in. She turned to look for Miranda and when Andy saw her, she positively beamed. Then the party from the Justice's chambers came in and finally the jury. The clerk called the case and Justice Hall addressed the jurors.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I have received a note from your foreman indicating that it is the opinion of each of you that you will be unable to reach a verdict in this case. Is that correct?" Miranda watched as each juror like a dutiful student nodded his or head in agreement. The Justice continued. "Mr. Foreman, in your opinion would additional time allow you to reach a unanimous verdict?" The foreman turned a glance on Emily Van Alstrom so baleful that Miranda stopped to admire the depth of enmity he was able to express. 

"Your honor, you could give us till hell freezes over and I'm confident we will never reach agreement." He said.

"Mr. Foreman," the Justice asked are you certain. The People, the defense, the members of the jury and this court have invested a great deal of time in this case. If a little more time would help, I'll be glad to give it to you."

"Your honor," the foreman practically snarled, "the members of this jury will never reach a unanimous verdict. I swear it on my life." Justice Hill was taken aback by the foreman's ferocity, but decided that it was probably meant for some one other than himself.

"Very well, then. Mr. Foreman, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this court would like to thank you for your time and diligent efforts in this matter. The court guard will escort you back to the jury room so that you may obtain any personal belongings you may have left there. You are dismissed. The court guard walked to the door of the jury box and led the jurors through the door that led to the jury room. As they waited their turns to exit the jury box, Emily Van Alstrom turned and looked for Miranda. Miranda caught her eye and pointed to the corridor outside the courtroom doors. Emily Van Alstrom smiled and nodded.

When the jury had departed, the judge banged his gavel down. Ms. Vance, Mr. Lermberger, we'll have to set a trial conference to discuss the dates and deadlines for a new trial. He opened his Microsoft Surface Pro and began perusing his calendar. Will the first Tuesday in December, 10:00am work for each of you? 

"Yes, your Honor." Ms. Vance said promptly.

"Your Honor," Solly responded, "I have filed an application for the defendant's release on bail. I hoped that we met schedule a hearing as soon as possible. The trial conference date is fine."

Ms. Vance spoke up. "How could you possibly have filed a bail application?" She demanded. "You've been in court for the last hour."

"Ms. Vance," Justice Hill said, a trifle frostily, if you don't mind. It is my courtroom, after all."

"I'm sorry your Honor," Vance said in a contrite voice.  
"Mr. Lermberger, if I may quote the prosecutor, "How could you possibly have filed a bail application? You've been in court for the last hour."

"Your Honor," Solly began, as humbly as possible because he knew he was feeling a bit proud of himself. "One of my colleagues left the courtroom as soon as you accepted the jury's conclusion and texted another colleague in the Clerk's office to file the paper's."  
"Well, I haven't been served." Vance exclaimed angrily. "I can hardly respond to a bail application that hasn't been served."

"Ms. Vance." Hill sounded both understanding and critical at the same time. At that moment, the Justice's secretary entered the courtroom from the chamber's door, carrying a set of legal papers. She placed them on the Justice's desk and leaned over and whispered in his ear. He laughed out loud when she was done, and shook his head."

"Mr. Lermberger, my secretary tells me that your application is filed and that courtesy copies have been delivered to chambers. Indeed, it appears that the papers are before me."

"Yes, your honor," Saul said. Once the papers were filed, another of my colleagues scanned them. We had copies made and delivered to your chambers and Ms. Vance's office. I have another set of courtesy copies for Ms. Vance." Saul said, lifting another set of the papers from his brief case.

"Let me so those." Vance snarled.  
"Temper, temper, Ms. Vance." Hill admonished. "You have been scooped. In my experience it is best to accept such things gracefully."

"Your Honor, I haven't even had a chance to read these papers. I request at least a week to prepare the People's response.

"Your Honor," Saul said. "There is no need for the People's response. The defendant will satisfy all the conditions set forth in the court's bail determination. If I could add, your Honor," Solly said and then paused. After Hill nodded, he continued, "the defendant has been remanded since her arrest. She is able to meet the bail conditions and it would not be unreasonable to ask you consider holding the hearing on our application as soon as possible."

"Your Honor," I will need at least until Monday morning to review these papers." Vance snapped. It was clear that she had pushed the Justice one step too far.

"That's a shame, Ms. Vance. Because as it happens, I will only need my lunch hour to review these papers. I want both of you back here at 2:00pm." Hill banged his gavel and rose. The court clerk intoned, "All rise!" Andy and Solly both looked back at Miranda who smiled at each of them with open affection. 

"Dear god," Solly thought. "I'd kill for that woman."


	10. Chapter 10

"You think he'll release her?" The court guard asked the court reporter as Miranda exited the courtroom, her eyes scanning the corridor for Emily Van Alstrom.

"Nah," who ever heard of someone making bail after the trial," the court reporter replied. Vance is spitting nails anyway, so she'll go to the wall to stop it. Whoever thought Solly Lermberger would pull a fast one on Vance, eh?"

Miranda hit Nigel's number on her speed dial. "The jury hung. The bail hearing is at 2:00pm." She looked up to see her first, first assistant striding down the hall, smiling to see her. "That is all." Miranda said and slipped the phone back into her bag.

"Miranda," Emily said, holding out her hands. "It is so good to finally get a chance to talk with you." Miranda took her hands into her own and then leaned in for an air kiss.

"Emily, let me buy you lunch. I so want to hear about your deliberations." She paused suddenly. "You can talk about them can't you," she asked in alarm.

"Yes," Emily replied. "We can. The guard said that we should expect a call from Ms. Vance and Mr. Lermberger."

"Yes," said Miranda with a smile, "I expect they'll both want a blow by blow. As do I. I thought we could try Smith and Wollensky."

"Miranda," said Emily, laughing. "I'm a vegetarian." Miranda looked puzzled. "And I have been a vegetarian since I worked for you."  
"Really," Miranda replied. "I must have repressed the memory."

"Let me take you to lunch. I have a favorite place as well."  
"Of course," said Miranda gracefully, hoping that there would at least be the possibility of fish.  
#

"You seem happy." Miranda observed as Roy threaded through the lunch hour traffic of lower Manhattan. 

"Oh, I'd say content." Emily replied with a smile. "Happiness comes in moments, content is feeling that you fit in your place in the world." She was a tall slender woman if black corduroys and a rust colored polartec anorak. Blond hair, cut chin length shaped a delicate-boned, high-cheeked,rectangular face. Her eyes were smokey gray. 

Miranda wondered what it must be to look like a model and live like a nun. She snorted and when Emily looked at her inquiringly, she said, "You've come a long way, baby." Emily lent her head back and laughed a husky alto chortle that Miranda found infectious.

It was Miranda's turn to laugh when Roy dropped them off at the address Emily had given him: St. George's Episcopal Church. "Well, it's no Smith and Wollensky," Miranda said dryly.

"But we do serve the best burger in town." Emily said. "Come along." She led Miranda through the church yard and into an almost hidden door that led to a flight of stone stairs. Soon Miranda found herself in the Vestry, at least according to a sign in wildly colored magic markers. "Hardly original, I know." Emily laughed.  
They were soon greeted by almost everyone inside. "Emily!" "Hey, Emily." "Em, good to see you!" Emily smiled and gave a little waive and took Miranda to a table in the corner. "Have a seat and I'll be right back." She said. 

While she waited, Miranda glanced around the vestry. The walls were hung with signed pictures of celebrities and framed clippings of news articles. Pinned schedules and flyers crammed a bulletin board by the entrance. Another, similarly crowded, hung by the exit at the other end of the room. The entrance to the service line was marked by a battered, four foot tall statue of a French waiter holding a chalk board. "Today's specials: All American Cheeseburger with Fries or Real British Fish and Chips! Apple or Lemon Merengue Pie for Dessert. BUT YOU HAVE TO EAT THE SALAD! (Fruit or Green).

The guests sat mostly at long tables and most concentrated on their food. She saw a few clerical looking men and women scattered among the tables. Then, Emily returned with her lunch. In all honesty, Miranda admitted, it looked delicious.

"Put a lot of blue cheese on All American burgers, do you?" She asked, taking the plate.

"The fromagiers were donating blue cheese - and it would seem churlish to say no." Emily explained. "So," she said, taking the seat across from Miranda. "I will tell you about the deliberations, if you tell me about the girl."

"Deal." Miranda replied. "You go first. From the looks of the jury foreman, you were the knot that hung the jury."

"Well at first, yes. But there were a few of us. There was one fellow, named Henry, who worked as an actuary who said nothing in life ever fitted that perfectly. If it did he'd be out of a job. Professional formation I suppose. And there was an older woman, Sylvia, who was, I'm afraid, a bit of a hypochondriac. She said she knew she could taste anything that was the least bit amiss with her food and she found it impossible to believe that a successful chef would not be able to detect the presence of arsenic in his coffee. More power to her, I don't think I could taste the presence of chili peppers in mine."

Miranda laughed. "Perhaps, Emily dear, you've let your standards slide."  
Emily laughed. "I like to think that I've refined them to the essentials: hot and strong."

Miranda continued. "And you, why did you decline to convict." 

"You," I suppose," Emily answered. "At least at first. I knew whoever worked as one of your assistants would be in the townhouse, and sometimes with the girls. I knew that you would never let anyone near them who wasn't perfectly safe. You'd have a sixth sense or something."  
And then the girl herself. She did not strike me as a plotting, poisoner type. I could see her lashing out in a fit of anger, maybe. But she struck me as someone who'd seek her vengeance with words, not arsenic. Also, it wasn't clear to me that she wanted vengeance. If every professional couple in Manhattan resorted to arsenic when their relationships...Oh dear, I'm being thoughtless."

Miranda smiled at her. "Don't worry. I never wanted to poison Stephen. Destroy him professionally and financially, of course. But if I killed him, I wouldn't have had the pleasure of watching him suffer."

"Miranda," Emily said in a warning tone. "Don't make light of painful things with friends. He was the world's worst shit and you're well rid of him, but that doesn't mean it was fun or funny."

Miranda sighed. "No," she admitted, "it wasn't. But we're well past that now."

Emily smiled. "So tell me about this girl. She must be something special to bring you to court every day for more than a week. Hell, special couldn't even begin to cover it."

"She is, special." Miranda said. "She was my second assistant for eight months. Very good. Incredibly smart and wonderful with people."

"So her skills complimented yours?" Emily asked with an evil grin.

"Oh, snap, Emily," Miranda said. "But yes. It was amazing having someone whom people liked dealing with. They're more terrified of Emily than they are of me."

"Emily?" Van Alstrom asked. 

"My current first assistant is actually named Emily." Miranda explained. I usually call all the seconds "Emily" until they've proven to have some competence."

"Must be confusing," Van Alston observed.

"Yes, yes it is." Miranda admitted with a smile. "But they either figure it out or I fire them." Emily barked with laughter. 

"Dear God, you haven't changed a bit," she exclaimed.

"I have actually," Miranda objected. "It's down to Andréa, I suppose. But, I do like to see the assistants hop. Anyway, Emily broke her leg and I had to take Andréa with me to the Paris Fashion Show. Irv tried to oust me from Runway while we were there."

"Irv?" Emily exclaimed. "That little troll is still bothering you?"

Miranda snorted. "Well, we're currently enjoying a period of detente. But to squash his little coup, I had to snatch Nigel's dream job and offer it to Jacqueline Follet. Nigel wasn't happy. He understood, but he wasn't happy. Andréa wasn't happy and she didn't understand."

"What happened?" Emily asked.

"She quit. She pretty much indicated that she'd rather give up her career than be like me, stormed out of the limo, through her company phone in a fountain and found her way back to New York." Miranda replied.

"So that's what all that testimony was about." Emily mused. "But they said you wrote her a recommendation. That she got her job at the Mirror because of you."

"Yes. I did. She was right to quit - it would have been better with two weeks notice, like all the adults do it, but she was like you. Supremely talented and completely uninterested in fashion. Also, kind of heart and a firm believer that it was both within her capacity and her duty to try to make the world a better place. Despite what the papers say, Emily," Miranda smiled, "I try not crush the good ones. Look at you."

"Alright, point taken." Emily said. "But that still doesn't explain your presence at the trial and your absence from Runway."

"True." Miranda conceded. She explained about the girl's discovery of the trial, her own shock at Andy's abandonment by friend and family, her willingness to let Nigel and Emily do their jobs, the council of war she had created to fix the situation. She explained everything except what she had come to realize were her feelings for Andréa. Her reticence hardly mattered. Emily read her like a book.

"Miranda," Emily warned, "go slowly with her. She must feel so wounded and betrayed right now. And she's still not out of the woods."

Miranda blushed. "I know. I know. I can wait. Even if nothing comes of all this, I'll know I helped her when she needed it."

"Then," said Emily, "you'll have done very well, indeed. Now," she said briskly, knowing that Miranda tolerated emotional honesty only in very small doses, "tell me about the girls and then I'll give you a tour of the place and show you how your generous donations are spent."

Miranda spent the next hour touring the kitchen, classrooms and clothing "store" of the shelter. It was, for all the faded glory of the church's 19th fabric, a warm and cheerful place. As they strolled back to the dining room for Miranda's coat, Emily asked her, "so what's next in Andy's saga?"  
"The bailing hearing this afternoon - Mac and Solly seem to think that's in hand." Miranda replied. "Then we have to double check the timeline for the night of the death. There's an odd gap between the time Nate left the taxi and showed up at Andréa's. Neither the prosecutor or Solly made anything of it. But if he stopped anywhere. If someone could say that he seemed ill before he ever got to Andréa's apartment. Well that would do very nicely for me. Although, I have no idea how we'll track this down. My clacker's wouldn't get very far in that neighborhood. To be honest, I don't think Mac's squad of pro bono white shoe lawyers would either. You wouldn't know any good private detectives, would you? I suppose I could always call my divorce lawyer for a recommendation, but that seems to be mixing my personal life up in this in an uncomfortable way."

"No private eyes," Emily replied, "but I do have an alternative suggestion." She paused for a moment. "Some of my clients here are actually quite presentable and quite competent. They obviously had the misfortune to get mixed up with abusive partners, but that doesn't mean they couldn't do door to door interviews for you. It'd be a good line on their résumé as they try to get their lives in order, too."

Now Miranda paused. Finally, she said, "That does not seem unacceptable. Emily will send you the details and you can choose whomever you think best. Would it be alright to pay them a wage?" She asked.

Van Alstrom looked at her oddly. "Why wouldn't it be?" She asked. 

"Oh, I didn't want to interfere with their benefits or status here. But if it's ok, just tell me what's appropriate and send me a bill."

"Yes, Miranda," Emily said in her best assistant' voice. Miranda just shook her head.


	11. Chapter 11

When Miranda arrived at the courthouse she was greeted by a large, noisy undulating mass of paparazzi. She looked through them and walked past them into the courtroom, which was completely full. Miranda stood, craning her neck as she looked for a seat, when Solly suddenly appeared besides. 

"I think it's best if you sit at counsel's table for the bail application, Miranda," he said. Since you're putting up the money and the job for the defendant, the Justice may want to question you."

She was not happy. She imagined her picture in above the fold stories of reputable newspapers the next day. The girls would, naively of course, love it. But, if she didn't accept Solly's offer, there was no way that she'd find a seat in the courtroom. She resigned herself to the best seat in the house.

"Lead on, McDuff," Miranda said grimly and followed the attorney to the defense table. Vance looked at her suspiciously as she sat down. Miranda smiled her crocodile smile and leaned across the aisle to whisper, "McLemore's lovely, of course, and she has quite the following, dear. But don't you think Armani suits your body type better." Miranda was practically purring. Vance gaped at her for a moment and then smiled weakly. The guard brought Andy out and seated her between Miranda and Solly. She waited patiently for him to rearrange the chain, all the while looking quizzically at Miranda.

Miranda felt like she should say something witty but affectionate. The judge and the retinue of clerks entered the courtroom before she could. Once the parties had been seated and the clerk had called the case, Justice Hill looked down and Solly and nodded. "Mr. Lermberger," he said.

Solly rose. "Thank you, your honor. Ms. Sachs is prepared to meet the conditions you set in the bail hearing in this case. Ms. Priestly, Ms. Sach's former employer has provided me with a certified check for $250,000.00" and I am ready to provide that to the court."

"Ms. Vance," Hill said looking at the prosecutor. Vance rose.

"Your honor," she began, "the People would like to make a number of points. "First, the defendant is no longer employed. It is not clear how she will support herself if she's released. Second, the defendant has no place to live. Finally, there's a material change in circumstances since the bail hearing. We've just had a mistrial. The court is entitled to consider this fact and determine that the People are best protected if the defendant is remanded without bail until the conclusion of the next trial."

Solly waited for Hill to nod at him, and then replied, "you're Honor, if I may take the last point first - had Ms. Sach's been able to make bail after the initial bail hearing, the People would not be seeking her remand now. I've prepared a list of every homicide trial in New York City in the last 50 years where the defendant was allowed and made bail. In none of those cases which ended in mistrial, did the People seek to change the bail status of the defendant between the first and second trial."

"Is that a particularly lengthy list, Mr. Lermberger, "Hill asked somewhat sardonically.

"Nine cases, your Honor. If I may be allowed to approach, I can provide the prosecution and the court with copies of the list." Hill nodded regally, and put on his reading glasses, hung from his neck by a silver chain. Solly smiled brightly as he handed a courtesy copy to the prosecutor and clerk of the declaration in which he described his research and listed the relevant cases.

When he stepped back to counsel's table he waited patiently until Hill put the paper down and then continued, "Your Honor, I'm prepared to address the other points raised by Ms. Vance, now."

"Continue, Mr. Lermberger," Hill said. Your Honor, Ms. Priestly is prepared to offer Ms. Sachs her former job back and to offer her a guest room in her residence until the conclusion of this matter."

Hill now looked down at Miranda with a droll smile. "Fire another one, Miranda?" He asked genially.

Miranda rose and said in an equally friendly tone, "No, not at all your Honor. It just happened by coincidence that my present second assistant has accepted a job with the NRDC's web site this week and I will need a new second assistant."

"Your offer of housing is quite generous, as well, Miranda." Hill observed.

"Thank you, your Honor," Miranda said simply.

The Justice turned to the prosecutor. "Ms. Vance, it appears that your objections are answered and that there is no obvious reason in this case for the People to alter its well established practice. Do you have anything further to add."

Vance stood and looking quite sour said, "No, your honor, but." She paused as the Justice looked at her quite sternly. "I do think it would be appropriate to require a monitoring system."

Solly jumped up and said with a gracious smile. "We have no objections to that requirement, your Honor."

Hill turned back to the defense table. "Ms. Sachs?" 

Andy stood and replied in a quiet voice, "Yes, your Honor." 

"You are a very lucky young women. Do not abuse the trust of Ms. Priestly." Miranda thought he sounded a bit like a priest in the confessional.

"No you Honor," Andy said. "I won't."

"Fine," Hill said. "Are we done here? Good. Mr. Lermberger, prepare the order for my signature and deliver it to chambers as soon as possible. I'll have it signed before 4:00pm."

"Your Honor," Solly replied, sounding a bit sheepish. "I actually have an order with me. If you'd like I can provide a copy to you and Ms. Vance, now."

"Looks like somebody ate their Wheaties this morning," Hill laughed. "Hand it to the clerk." Solly again handed Vance and the clerk a proposed order." Both read through the order. Hill nodded. 

As he signed he said, "Tell me, Mr. Lermberger," how did you happen to have an order prepared that included monitoring? The original bail conditions didn't include it."

"Well, your Honor," Solly grinned, "I've been fortunate in pro bono support of late and I took the precaution of preparing orders for every possible combination of conditions I could think of."

"The People might want to keep that attention to detail in mind, Ms. Vance." Vance who looked like she wanted to choke Solly, merely said, "Yes, sir."

Vance turned again to Andy. "Ms. Sachs, you are free to leave with Ms. Priestly. Until you have made arrangements with the pre-Trial office to set up the monitoring system you may not leave her home unless it is to accompany her to her office. You may not leave that office for any reason before the monitoring program is installed. Is that clear?"

"Yes, your Honor."

"Good," Hill said absently and banged his gavel. We're done here people.   
Once the chambers door had closed on the Justice and his entourage, the courtroom exploded in noise and commotion. Andy turned into Miranda's embrace and hugged her tightly.

"Don't let go yet, Andréa. We still have to get past these vultures. But Roy is waiting for us outside. Can you keep yourself together?" Andy nodded into Miranda's neck. "Good girl, Miranda said, and putting her hands on Andy's shoulders, gently pushed her back. "Look at me, Andréa," she said firmly. Andy drew a deep breath and looked into Miranda's eyes. "You throw your shoulders back, hold your head high and look them in the eye. Remember, we are lucky to have you." Andy grinned shyly.

"Yes, Miranda," she said with a false meekness. Miranda grinned back and they followed Solly down the center aisle and out of the courtroom.


	12. Chapter 12

"Good to see you, Andy," Roy said, holding the door for Andy.  
  
"You too, Roy." Andy replied and then suddenly leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, before she slid into the back seat next to Miranda. The three were quiet on the ride from the courthouse to Miranda's courthouse until Miranda's phone rang.  
  
"Yes, Bobbsey?" Miranda said with a smile. After a pause, she replied, "all good news, we'll be home soon. Andy heard them squeal and grinned as Miranda rolled her eyes. "I'm hanging up now girls. Please endeavor not to tear the house down within the next half hour. It would also be helpful if you managed not to bomb any of the paparazzi from your bedroom windows - ," Miranda paused for a moment - "or any other location in the house. And tell Cara that we're on our way." She ended the call and put her phone back in her bag. Smiling at Andy, Miranda said, "the girls anticipate your arrival with delight."  
  
"I'm looking forward to seeing them too." Andy said. "How old are they now. 11 or 12?"  
  
"Thirteen, if you can believe it," Miranda said.  
  
"They're in high school," Andy asked, surprised.  
  
"Yes, freshmen. The next step will be tattoos and drivers licenses." Miranda replied with a sigh.  
  
"What about dating?" Andy asked with a mischievous grin."  
  
"I told them that if they even think about dating before their senior year they'll be off to a convent in Boston with eight foot walls." Miranda said.  
  
Andy laughed and they fell back into a companionable silence that lasted until they reached the townhouse. A team of private security guards whom Emily had hired at Mac's suggestion formed a corridor from the car to the front door. A few moments later they were in the vestibule. No sooner had Miranda closed the door behind them when the girls came hurtling down the stairs shouting, "Mom, Andy!" When they arrived, flanking the two women, they threw their arms around Miranda and Andy, shouting, "You're here, you're here. Cara made beef burgundy for dinner. Mom said you used to like it. How was the bail hearing? Are you feeling ok?"  
  
They asked this because Andy's eyes were beginning to tear up. Andy nodded. "It's very good to see you Caroline," she said looking at the twin who had wrapped herself around Miranda. "And it is most excellent to see you again, too, Cassidy." Andy's voice was choked, half with laughter and half with tears.  
  
Suddenly, the girls each grabbed one of Andy's hands and began to drag her up the stairs. "Come on," said Cassidy. "We want to show you your room. It's as far away as possible from ours because Mom said we'd be incapable of playing music you'd want to listen to or our own at a volume appropriate for guests. Do you think that's true?" Andy looked over her shoulder at Miranda."  
  
"You'll be fine, Andreá. They haven't bitten a houseguest in years." Miranda reassured her with a smile. "I just have to speak with Cara and change my clothes. Why don't you take a good long, hot shower. I had Nigel send some things over for you. Change into something comfortable. I told the girls we'd watch a movie after dinner."  
  
"Yeah! Caroline shouted. "I call dibs on picking the movie."  
  
"Not fair," Cassidy replied as they resumed leading Andy up the stairs. "You picked the last one."  
  
"Girls," Miranda admonished as she followed them up the stairs, "Andréa is our guest. Perhaps it would be appropriate to allow her to pick out the movie."  
"No, no, Andy objected. "Why don't I just reserve veto power."

  


#

Andy took the longest, hottest shower that she had enjoyed in months. She washed her hair twice and then conditioned it with the products Cara stocked for Miranda, rubbing her scalp and rinsing repeatedly, almost obsessively. Her hair was so short now, that it didn't take very long. In the end, she just stood beneath the flow of water, sometimes bending forward so that the water concentrated between her shoulder blades. Sometimes she turned around and bent her neck to catch the spray or raised her arms and leaned her sides into it. Finally, when her skin on her fingers had puckered to a child like prunishness, she sighed and bent down to turn off the water. The bathroom attached to the guest bedroom was, by her own standards, luxurious. It was unmonitored, uninterrupted time beneath the water, she realized, however, as she wrapped herself in Egyptian cotton towels, that was the greatest indulgence.  
  
"Andy," twin called from the bedroom? "Are you done?"  
  
"Caroline?" She asked coming to the bathroom door. "You startled me." Suddenly she realized how long she had been taking. "Oh my god, dinner," she squeaked.  
  
"It's ok. Mom said to take as long as you wanted. But if you want, I could help you get ready." Andy swallowed, discomforted by the thought of keeping Miranda waiting and wondering if Miranda dressed for dinner. She relaxed as soon as she looked at Caroline and realized comfortable attire would be "acceptable."  
  
"Sure," she answered. "I don't exactly know what Nigel's stocked the closet with."  
  
"Oh, Nigel," Caroline said dismissively. "He'd have you in Vivian Westwood on a Friday night at home."  
  
Andy grinned. "You're right. Well then. What do you suggest?"  
  
"Cass and I picked something out for you. You would not believe the eye-rolling Mom tried on us, but we convinced her," she said pointing to a neatly stacked pile of clothing on the bed. There, cotton socks, underpants and a sports bra sat on top of a tank top. Next to them was a purple Northwestern hoodie and a pair of grey sweats. She laughed out loud.  
  
"Remind me how much I owe you two the next time you need a favor, Caroline. These are exactly perfect."  
  
"I know. You can't rely on Mom for casual - it's a blind spot of hers. Ok, well I'm going to let you get dressed. Come on down when you're ready." She stood for a moment as if turning an idea over her mind and suddenly wrapped her arms around Andy. "I'm really glad you're here Andy."  
  
"So am I, Caroline," she said. Then she kissed her on the top of her head and said briskly, "off you go, I'll be down in a sec." Caroline ran from the room, slamming the door behind her and Andy winced and then laughed.

  


#

Dinner was delicious, of course. Beef bourguignon, homemade levain, a simple green salad. The Pinot noir that Miranda served poured for Andy and herself had a sturdy, hardy flavor that stood up well to the stew. Andy ate in silence for the first few minutes while the girls chattered away.  
  
"Is it ok, Andy?" Cassiday asked anxiously.  
  
"Oh, Cass it's perfect." Andy reassured her. "It's the best meal I've had in months - years really. Also the best company. She grinned at the Priestly women."  
  
"Jail food really sucks." Caroline observed.  
  
"Caroline," Miranda interjected, "language."  
  
"Well, Mom, it is gross - at least on OINB." Caroline countered.  
  
"Was it that bad, Andy?" Cassidy asked.  
  
"Cass, dummy, no questions." Caroline hissed.  
  
Cassidy reddened. "Oh, sorry," she said sheepishly.  
  
"Cass, you can ask me about jail." Andy said.  
  
"Dr. Charaiu said we shouldn't." Caroline said in a puzzled tone.  
  
"Who's Dr. Charaiu, Bobbsey?" Miranda asked.  
  
"She's the school psychologist."  
  
"Dalton has it's own psychologist?" Andy asked in surprise.  
  
"First world problems demand first world solutions, Andréa." Miranda replied dryly. "Bobbsey, how did you happen to be speaking with Dr. Chiraiu?" She continued.  
"Caroline and I made an appointment with her for lunch today." Cassidy explained.  
  
"We figured Andy might be messed up with jail and the trial and staying here and everything," Caroline explained.  
  
"So we made an appointment during our study hall." Cassidy said. "We asked her how we should act because we didn't want to freak you out or anything." She continued, turning to Andy.  
  
"And she said you shouldn't ask me questions?" Andy asked.  
  
"Only about jail and the trial and stuff." Caroline replied.  
  
"Caroline, stuff? You can consult a psychologist at Dalton, but not improve upon such imprecise language? Really?"  
  
"Fine, Mother." Caroline said in exasperation, "and other such matters. Happy?" She gave her mother a hard stare and both Miranda and Andy fought back smiles.  
"Yes," Miranda said evenly. "Very satisfied."  
  
Andy intervened. "Caroline, Cassidy, I'm a reporter. I think it's weird when people don't ask questions. It makes me nervous. Why don't we say you can always ask me anything you want and if I don't want to talk about it, I'll tell you."  
  
"Really," Cassidy asked with concern in her voice. "It won't give you post traumatic stress or anything?"  
  
"I don't think so. You tell me if I start acting twitchy though, Andy said.  
  
"And if Andréa says she doesn't want to talk about it, you will respect her wishes. Is that understood girls?"  
  
"Yes, Mom." Said Caroline. Her sister echoed her.  
  
"Ok," Andy said with a laugh. The ground rules are set. Now what was the question?"  
  
"Food in jail," said Caroline. "Is it gross?"  
  
"Mostly bland, not gross." said Andy. "And never enough fruit and salad, or, " she continued, wiping her now empty bowl with a piece of bread, "anything like fresh bread, or anything as good as as this stew."  
  
"Seconds, Andréa?" Miranda asked.  
  
"No, thank you," said Andy. "I'm getting full and I've been hoping for dessert."  
  
"We might manage to rustle something up." Miranda smiled.  
The girls high-fived each other."  
  
"Is everyone done?" Cassidy asked. "May we clear?"  
  
"Yes, darling. You girls clear and load the dishwasher and I'll see what Cara left for us. Coffee, Andréa, I can make de-caf or an herbal tea if you'd like."  
"I think I'd prefer the tea, Miranda." Andy, who was worried that she would feel too wired to sleep for the next three nights. The girls set to work clearing the table and Miranda chatted with Andréa as she set out dessert plates and silverware. When she removed vanilla ice cream from the freezer and an apple pie warming in the oven, Caroline stopped loading the dishwasher and turned dramatically to Andrea.  
  
"Oh, My, God." She said. "I have died and gone to heaven." Cassidy quickly turned around, looked at the table. She smiled contentedly, looking eerily like her mother, and said. "Caroline, you called it in one." Cassidy then turned to Andy. "I will clear your dinner plate anytime you want Andy if you can get Mom to keep offering desserts like that."  
  
Andy looked at the pile of carbs and fats piled high on the plate Miranda set in front of her and laughed. "I will hold you too that Cass. But I suspect this dessert is in honor of the results in court today."  
  
"Do you mean we're going to have to wait till you're acquitted before we have apple pie à la mode again?" Caroline sounded disappointed.  
  
"Oh, no, Bobbsey," Miranda said, we'll have a number of interim celebrations, I'm sure. You won't have to wait until the end of the next trial. But Andréa's right, tonight is Andréa's homecoming celebration."  
  
"Good work, Ace." Caroline said, aping a Hollywood gangster's accent as she leaned into Andréa. They all laughed and then tucked in.  
  
#  
  
Andy woke several times during the night, as she usually did. The quiet of the house and the comfort of her bedding were disorienting. Each time she woke, it took her a moment to locate herself. But when she did, the thought, "I'm sleeping in Miranda's guest room" surprised her again. Finally though, when the sky was just beginning to lighten, she fell into a sound sleep. A few hours later, Caroline's presence beside her bed woke her. One eye open she muttered, "Hey Caroline. Did I oversleep?"  
  
"Depends," Caroline answered.  
  
"Depends on what?" Andy asked.  
  
"Depends on whether you want pancakes for breakfast." she answered, deadpan.  
  
Andy realized that beside the dinner and dessert the night before, she was very hungry indeed.  
  
"Pancakes? You're not kidding me are you?" Andy asked.  
  
"Andy, be real. Cass and I never kid about Mom's pancakes." Caroline said in exasperation.  
  
"Ok. Got it. I'm on the j.o.b."  
  
"Good." She turned to leave, but turned again at the door. "Andy, it's none of my beeswax, but if I were you, I wouldn't wear the sweats two days in a row." Andy laughed and waived her out of the room.  
  
After her shower, Andy explored her room and closet and realized suddenly that some of her belongings - small items, her iPod, some family pictures, a few framed awards, her degree from Northwestern - were displayed on the top of the bureau and on shelves of the bookcases in the room. She gasped when she saw a teddy bear with a tee-shirt that read, "AndyBear!" - a gift from the members of her staff on the Daily Northwestern when she graduated. She threw on a pair of designer jeans and a short-sleeved, emerald green silk shirt, hung together near the closet door. "Christ," she thought to herself, "now Caroline's dressing me."  
  
When she arrived in the kitchen, Miranda eyed her up and down and then smiled. "Acceptable." She said with a grin.  
  
"Caroline." Andy replied, smiling as well.  
  
"What," Caroline said, entering the kitchen from the dining room. "Anything else for the table, Mom."  
  
"No, darling. Andréa was just giving you credit for your taste in selecting her outfit today."  
  
Caroline's smile disappeared. "You weren't supposed to figure that out."  
  
Andy laughed and threw her arm around her. "Caroline, never hesitate to give me your best advice on my outfits. The line of people at Runway who feel free to do so is a mile long." Caroline laughed and they sat down to chocolate chip pancakes, blueberry pancakes, and banana pancakes; fresh squeezed orange juice and turkey bacon, which to Andy's amazement, tasted quiet good.  
  
"More, Andréa." Miranda, asked, offering her thirds.  
  
"Miranda," you hardly sprung me from jail to give me a diabetic coma the first weekend I'm out." The girls were quiet suddenly.  
  
"Andréa," Miranda said curtly, "I have no idea what your talking about." But the sight of Andy, as emancipated as any clacker, may have been the aspect of this whole business that bothered Miranda the most.  
  
Andy suddenly leaned forward and grabbed Miranda's wrist. "Hey," she said, almost whispering. "It's ok. I'm just full, now. I'll keep working on it. I promise." Miranda nodded but looked deeply upset.  
  
Cassidy jumped up and said, "We'll clear, right Caroline?" Caroline nodded and stood.  
  
"No, no, wait a minute," said Andy. "You guys cleared last night and your Mom cooked this morning - I'd say it's my turn. Why don't you figure out what we're going to do today." She started clearing the table.  
  
The girls followed her into the kitchen. "It's raining," said Cassidy, I say the Met.  
  
"Oh, God," Caroline objected, "not another mind numbing day with the European masters. Why not a movie?"  
  
"Wait girls. The Justice was quite clear that Andréa can only leave the house to go to work. Besides, the paparazzi are thick as flys outside the house. I don't think we can really go out until the monitoring system is in place."  
  
"Andy, are you going to have an ankle bracelet, like Peter on the Good Wife?" Caroline asked, excited. "Cool."  
  
"I'm not actually sure what system they'll use," Andy laughed. "But don't you want to go hang out with your friends?"  
  
Cassidy answered for them both. "Nope, we want to hang with you. Anything special you want to do at home with us?" She asked brightly.  
  
Andy turned to Miranda. "Would it be alright if we talked about my case?" Cassidy and Caroline looked at Miranda eagerly.  
  
"Are you sure you want to," Miranda asked.  
  
"Are you ok if the girls are in on this?" Andy asked in turn. They each thought for a moment and then said, "yes."  
  
"Hey," Andy said, "before we get to work, I have a question." The girls and Miranda looked at her expectantly.  
  
"Some of my stuff from before is in my room. How did it get there?" She asked.  
  
"Andy, language! 'Stuff?" Said Caroline.  
  
Cassidy shook her head in mock disappointment. "And you a journalist. What kind of role model are you?"  
  
Both Andy and Miranda laughed in delight.  
  
"Fine," said Andy, in mock anger, "small items from my personal possessions. Happy?"  
  
"Very." Miranda answered. "You have the girls to thank by the way. Why don't you ask them about it. "I'll go move your case files from my study to the family room. It will be more comfortable to work in there."  
  
"Should I bring a thermos of coffee up when I'm done here?" Andy asked.  
  
"Only if you want my undying gratitude." Miranda replied dryly and turned to walk upstairs.  
  
"Right, then, a thermos of superheated coffee." Andy said. "But first," she said as she began to rinse off the breakfast dishes, "I want to hear about my stuff." The three laughed.  
  
"Well," Cassidy said, "Mom told us how you said she didn't know where your things were.  
  
"But we had just finished a unit on housing in our Urban Affairs course." Caroline said.  
  
"Wait, your high school freshmen and you're taking a course in Urban Affairs." Andy asked.  
  
"Think of it as 'Social Studies' for affluent adolescents," Cassidy answered as dryly as her mother would. Andy nodded.  
  
"Anyway," Caroline said impatiently, "we knew that under the law, the landlord couldn't have gotten rid of your stuff yet."  
  
"Stuff? Caroline, Really?" Cassidy asked.  
  
"Cass - it stopped being funny about an hour ago." Caroline snapped back.  
  
"So, anyway," Andy intervened, "what did you do?"  
  
"Well," said Cassidy, "Caroline persuaded Emily to give us your old address. It had to be Caroline. She won't even speak to me."  
  
"Serious prank," Andy asked.  
  
"It was brilliant," Cassidy said with a smile, "but I'll tell you about it later."  
  
"Good work, Caroline." Andy said.  
  
"Oh, Emily's on Mom's war council, I just had to ask her, not really persuade her."  
  
"War council?" Asked Andy as she began to prepare the coffee.  
  
"She hasn't told you about it? Caroline asked. "It's totally cool, but later, ok. Because Cass was just brilliant tracking down the landlord."  
  
"What did you do?" Andy asked her.  
  
"It was not big deal," Cassidy shrugged. "I figured out who the management company was and called."  
  
"Come on Cass," Caroline interrupted. "You made a million calls. Everyone kept passing you on to someone else."  
  
"Well maybe a dozen calls, but eventually I track him down and figured out where they were storing your." She paused.  
  
"Personnel possessions?" Andy asked.  
  
"Exactly," said Cassidy. "So Caroline told Mom and she got everything out of storage from the landlord."  
  
"Hardly a struggle to persuade her." Caroline noted dryly.  
  
"You guys are regular Woodward and Bernsteins." Andy said. "Cass, could you find me a thermos," she asked as an aside.  
  
"Woodward and who," asked Caroline.  
  
"My God, they can teach you Urban Affairs at that fancy pants school but you don't know who Woodward and Bernstein are?" They looked at her blankly.  
  
"Come on." She said, taking the thermos, "First a strategy session and then I know what movie we're watching this afternoon." They rolled their eyes and followed her upstairs to the family room.

#  
"So why," Andy asked, putting her mug down and looking at the girls, "do people kill other people?"  
  
"Thwarted love," Caroline said dramatically.  
  
"Money," said Cassidy dryly.  
  
"Revenge," said Caroline.  
  
"Revenge for what," asked Andy.  
  
"Thwarted love," said Caroline.  
  
"Stolen money, or an inheritance or something like that," Cassiday said.  
  
"I think people kill out sheer stupidity," Miranda offered. "It's a solution that betrays a lack of imagination."  
  
"Come on, Mom," Cassidy objected. "Whoever killed Nate showed a lot of imagination."  
  
"In method," Miranda said, "but not in purpose. Whatever problem Nathaniel's death solved for the killer could have been handled far more creatively, I'm quite sure."  
  
"Unless it was suicide," Caroline said suddenly. "Do you think Nate would have killed himself, Andy?" She asked.  
  
Andy thought for a long minute or two. Miranda observed her thoughtfully as she sipped her coffee. Finally, Andy shook her head. "No," she said. "We had a good talk that last night. I had moved on and he knew that he had to. He was more embarrassed than anything about all the girls he'd been chasing. No. I don't think so."  
  
"I'm glad to hear that, Andréa. Both for your own sake and because proving a suicide could be quite difficult."  
  
"Let's think about the other reasons then. What if someone killed Nate for love?" Andy said.  
  
"One of the girls he dated?" Caroline asked.  
  
"I don't think he was serious about any of them," Andy said.  
  
"But perhaps one of them was serious about him?" Miranda asked.  
  
"Possibly," Andy conceded, "Although I was keeping my distance then. I wouldn't know."  
  
"Or maybe one of them had jealous boyfriend whom Nate had, I dunno, eclipsed?"  
  
"Dunno," Caroline, "really?" Miranda said in a haughty tone. "Nevertheless, an excellent point about Nathaniel's dates." She made a note and Caroline beamed.  
"What about money?" Cassidy asked. "Was Nate broke? Was he rich?"  
  
"Good questions Cassidy," Miranda said. Cassidy smiled like the sun. "Andy, one read about organized crime interests requiring a certain degree of "rent" from cash businesses like restaurants. Does your lobster shack require any such tribute?"  
  
"Yes, but Doug's business plan provided for it. Nate never said anything about any problems."  
  
"What about Nathaniel's personal finances," Miranda asked. "Could he have become indebted to those people?"  
  
"No. Nate lived like a hermit. Most of the time on Doug's couch. He didn't have any real personal expenses and his folks paid for college so he didn't have student loans."  
  
"Perhaps he had financial assets that someone wanted." Miranda mused. "Did he leave a will?"  
  
Andy thought for a moment and then shook her head. "I don't think so, but honestly I don't know." She said.  
  
"How about insurance?" Miranda continued.  
  
"Well," Andy paused. "I know the business had some but I don't know if he had any personally. No wait. He used to joke about a policy his folks bought him."  
"Yes?" Miranda said.  
  
Andy sighed. "It's pretty tragic actually. In his family, you always buy a small life insurance policy when a child is born. Nate's Nonna used to call it the 'burial policy.' It was supposed to pay for your funeral if you died before you owned enough money so that your estate could pay for your funeral if you died. The problem was, Nate's family wasn't exactly up to date on current burial costs and Nate used to say it wouldn't buy a pine box in a pauper's field."  
  
Cassidy asked practically, "Well, Andy, if you don't know about his will and insurance policies, who would?"  
  
Miranda, pen posed above her note pad looked at Andy expectantly.  
  
"Well, his parents, obviously - I mean by now the will's been probated, if there was one and I'm sure his parents would have cashed in any policies."  
  
"Do you know if he had a safe deposit box?" Cassidy asked.  
  
"No, I don't. I doubt it. I don't think he'd have anything to keep in one."  
  
"How about a off shore bank account?" Caroline asked?  
  
"Caroline." Miranda said in disgust. "This is not some television crime show."  
  
"It's a cash business, Mom." Caroline countered. "The opportunities for skimming are built in."  
  
"That's a fair point, Miranda." Andy interjected.  
  
"Did you ever have the business audited?" Miranda asked. "Dougie took care of all of the financial side." I had a file with all the documents he sent me in my apartment."  
  
"We can go to your storage unit and look through what's there, later this week. After we have the monitoring system straightened out." Miranda said.  
  
"How about your laptop." Cassidy said. "Did you own it or the paper?"  
  
Andy laughed. "I owned it. The Mirror gave me a choice of desktop or laptop. So I took their desk top and bought a laptop for myself."  
  
"Where is it?" Cassidy asked. "You didn't have it jail did you?"  
  
"Oh god, no." Andy laughed. "Your lucky enough to get a decent novel to read. It was in my backpack, by my desk when they arrested me. I assume the Mirror still has it.  
  
"I'll look into getting it back," said Miranda.  
  
"It will have any backups you did of your email." Caroline said. "Hey, Andy, we could go through your old email and sort everything, when you get your computer back, if you wanted. Unless that's too personal."  
  
"No, I'm fine with that." Said Andy, "It's just that I'll probably need it for work."  
  
"No, actually, Andréa. I'm assuming Mac and the lawyers will want to review it. I'll have Emily get the IT people to prepare a new one for you. They can do whatever it is they do so that it works on the company systems."  
  
"Miranda," Andy objected. That's very generous, but I don't think you should..." Her voice trailed off. Miranda looked pained. Cassidy intervened quickly.  
  
"I have an idea, Mom." She said excitedly.  
  
"Yes, Bobbsey." Miranda said absently."  
  
"Why don't you get Caroline and I new Mac Books and then we can give Andy our old one. Both of them actually," she said, smiling as she sorted the problem. "Mine's already set up for the house system. I'll just get rid of all the Dalton stuff. And Andy can take Caroline's to work and you can have them set it up on the Elias-Clark system."  
  
Miranda's eyes twinkled. "Cassidy, you are a going to make a model liberal business woman someday, doing well, by doing good. Would that be acceptable Andréa? Will you enjoy the fall out of my generosity to my daughters?" Her voice was light and teasing.  
  
Andy shook her head in resignation. "This house. It probably the only place in Manhattan where you politely decline one computer and end up with two."  
"Yeah!" The girls shouted, jumping up and high giving each other.  
  
"Come on Caroline, let's go back up our stuff and then configure the new ones." She turned to Miranda. "If I set them up on line, can we go tomorrow and pick them up?"  
  
Miranda smiled, "Stuff, Bobbsey?"  
  
"Right, laughed Cassidy. "Hard disks."  
  
"Yes, darling. Call me when your ready and I'll order them from your computer. We'll pick them up tomorrow morning while Andréa is sleeping the day away.  
  
  
"Hey." Said Andy, laughing. "I resemble that insinuation."


	13. Chapter 13

The Priestly family bustle woke Andy on Monday morning. She sighed and sat up in the bed and thought nervously about her impending re-entry at Runway. In the end she sighed again and shook her head. She was nervous as a cat but when she considered the alternative, she was happy enough. She heard a knock at the door and Caroline's voice calling, "Andy, it's us. Are you decent?" She smiled and swung her legs out of bed and to the floor.

"Well I'm not nekkid, if that will do." Andy called back. The girls, already dressed for school, came in with determined looks on their faces.

"So," said Caroline. "Here's the deal. Were you serious the other day when you said you'd take my clothing advice?"

Andy smiled. "Absolutely."

Cassidy smiled at this and said, "Well, we have a plan."

Caroline continued. "Right. See, Cass thinks my taste in clothes is too out there."

"Really," asked Andy. "The outfit you picked for me on Saturday was lovely."

Cassidy responded. "Didn't count. That was a weekend around the house outfit, not a back to work at Runway outfit."

"True," Andy admitted. "But I liked it very much."

"Yes, well," said Cassidy, 'it may be less that I think Caroline's taste is out there than Caroline thinks I'm boring and unadventurous."

"Kind of judgmental, Caroline." Said Andy, but she smiled to take the sting out of her words.

"Maybe, but my God, she'd have you in nothing but Chanel, five days a week." Caroline  
responded.

"I'd probably have me in Chanel five days a week." Said Andy.  
"Exactly, said Caroline. "So here's the plan. I'll do you on Monday and Friday and Cass will do you the rest of the week. You can veto anything, but you let us at least try to pick out the outfits."

"But the most important part is you have to tell how whether people liked our choices or not."

Caroline continued. "It will be a great learning experience for us, and we won't have to take any fashion risks ourselves."

"Just think, Andy," said Cassidy, "you'd be contributing to our social and psychological development."

At this, Andy laughed out loud. "Well, fine. But only if you agree to explain to me why you put the outfits together the way you did." The twins looked at each other, grinned and gave a high five.

"Take a seat, Cass," said Caroline, "and see how it's done."

"As if," Cassidy replied smartly.  


#

In the car, Miranda said, "Andréa, you don't have to let the girls practice playing couturier on you. Although Caroline did a good job with your outfit today."  
Andy smiled. "I don't mind and they enjoy the heck out of it."  
  
"There's something else I wanted to say." Miranda began and then paused. Andy watched as she began to tap a finger against her knee as she thought about her next words. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry for being intrusive at breakfast on Saturday. I have to respect your boundaries and what an adult chooses to eat should be an easy enough boundary for me to see."  
  
"Miranda, honestly, it's ok. I know I look like a broomstick and I'm not thrilled about it. I don't think I have an eating disorder. I think I just lost interest in food and to be honest, the food at Rikers hardly inspires an appetite."  
  
"It's just," Miranda interrupted, "you were a refreshing change from all the clackers. And I don't want to see you go all Emily and the cheese cubes.  
  
"Miranda, I want to be the smart, fat girl. Give me a chance. I promise I'll eat the clam chowder three days a week until I'm a size four."  
  
Miranda shuddered and Andy laughed. "You know, Andréa, I will never forgive myself for that remark." Miranda said quietly.  
  
"You should, Miranda." Andy replied. I have."  
  
Miranda snorted. "When one looks in the dictionary under cheeky, Andréa, does one find your picture?"  
  
Andy laughed and clutched her heart. "A hit, a hit, a veritable hit!"  
  
Miranda smiled but grew serious again. "I also want to say." Again she stopped and drummed her finger. "I want to say that I understand how difficult you may find your current position. And I want to ensure you that I want to respect your wishes. You have far more autonomy than appears. Your "no" will mean "no" for me. That said, I am very interested in helping you achieve the proper outcome in this trial and I hope you will let me help you."  
  
"Miranda," Andy sighed. "I don't feel like you won't respect my decisions. Honestly. I don't think I have much autonomy, given the fact that I'm looking forward to getting an ankle monitor - but that's not you, that's the situation." Miranda started to speak, but Andy held up her finger. "No, let me finish. I am so deeply appreciative for everything you're doing for me. I did not think I had a friend left in the world. And you, of all people, turn out to be the best friend in the world to me."  
  
"Of all people, Andréa?" Miranda asked, sounding a little hurt.  
  
"No. No. That didn't come out right. I meant, it wasn't people from my life, my family, or my work who reached out to give me a hand. It was an extraordinarily important woman, one whom I treated badly, someone who has a million demands on her time - that's who turned out to be my friend. Not Lily or Doug, even my folks. And Miranda, don't forget, I know exactly how much effort that it took for you to be in court with me every day for the last week."  
  
"Yes, well," sniffed Miranda, "it was mostly Emily's effort." She grinned when Andy laughed. Then Roy spoke up.  
  
"Ten minutes, Andy."  
  
"Thanks Roy," Andy replied as she texted Emily "GYL!," the universal Runway abbreviation for "Gird your loins."  
  
"Someday," Miranda said a bit imperiously, as she watched Andy type, "I shall persuade one of you to explain what that means."  
  
"That," replied Andy, "will be the day after hell freezes over."

#  
Emily was waiting when the elevator door opened. "Good morning, Miranda." She mouthed "nice outfit, Andy, as they followed Miranda at a brisk clip through Runway's halls.  
  
"Emily," tell Nigel I want to see him immediately. Call Patrick. See whether Vera is available for lunch today. Contact pre-trial services to see what we can do to expedite Andréa's monitoring system. You'll run out of office errands until she is cleared by the court, so I suggest you be as persuasive as possible. The girls want tickets to Hamilton. Get us six - buy a box if you have to." At this Emily swallowed hard, but gamely kept her pen scrawling notes across her pad. Emily and Andréa looked at each other and shook their heads as Miranda dropped her coat and bag on Andy's old desk. Both took a quick step back when she suddenly turned around, an unaccustomed grin on her face. "Tell Jocelyn I'm moving the run through up to 10:00 a.m. Has Irv called?"  
  
"Yes, Miranda. Five times. He would like to see you as soon as possible."  
  
"I'm sure he would," Miranda said dryly. "But I refuse to engage with that man until I've had coffee. "Have you sent Alexa for my coffee? Where is she, in Brazil?"  
  
"No Miranda, she put your coffee on your desk just before you arrived." Said Emily.  
  
"Good." Miranda said, turning and walking into her office." Emily and Andy followed. "Andréa, you'll shadow Alexa today and tomorrow to learn any changes to our routine that we've developed since you chose sunnier climbs. Wednesday is her last day. Arrange a cake and a little party for her. You'll spend the two weeks after that doing the second assistant's work and observing Emily at her job. When she leaves, you will be promoted to first assistant and hire and train a new second assistant. That is all."  
  
#

Although a legion of second assistants would deny it to their graves, Miranda Priestly tended to do the hard work herself. Thus, Tuesday mid-morning, found her and a young associate from Mac's firm, named Jason Lundblad, in Cincinnati. A limo met them at the airport and drove them to the home of Natalie Cooper, Nate's mother.  
  
It was a quiet neighborhood, a development built in the G.I. Bill fueled housing boom after World War II. It was looking a bit shabby now in late winter, with none of the cheer that flowers and grace that old oaks and maples would bring in the summer.  
  
Mrs. Cooper greeted them a bit warily and invited them into her kitchen where a host of avocado colored appliances, fresh coffee and a bundt cake awaited them. Miranda, trying to channel what she assumed were Andréa's Midwestern sensibilities, smiled graciously as she accepted a hearty slice. Jason, whose experience of the legal practice continued to consist of taking notes at meetings, pulled a yellow pad from his briefcase and a pen from his jacket pocket and waited quietly for the conversation to begin.  
  
"You are very kind to meet with us, Mrs. Cooper."  
  
"Oh, Natalie, please," she said. "I don't know, I've always found it hard to believe Andy would kill Nate. I'd find it hard to believe Andy would swat a fly."  
  
"I agree with you." Miranda said. "And I hope our efforts won't simply vindicate Andréa, but also identify the person responsible for your son's death."  
  
"I would like that," Natalie said. "Now, how can I help you."  
"Let me ask you first," Miranda said gently, "and I promise you that I m  
ean no disrespect towards your son: do you think it's possible that Nathaniel would have taken his own life?"  
  
"Nate," his mother replied, shocked. "No. He would never have." She stopped and thought a second. "He wouldn't have done that to me for starters. Ever since his father died he's always been protective of me. He would never have chosen to leave me alone like this, no matter how down he was." She stopped for a moment, fighting back tears.  
  
"But he was never a boy to stay down for long, you know. I talked to him the day before he went to Andy's for dinner. He knew she would probably say, 'no,' but he wanted to give it one last try. He knew he hadn't treated her well. I think starting the restaurant was his first taste of giving himself entirely to his career and he realized how hard he had been on Andy when he left her."  
  
She smiled shyly at Miranda. "He blamed you, at first, you know. For the first time they broke up." Miranda, nodded. "I told him he was being such a boy. Mrs. Sachs didn't raise her daughter to iron his shirts anymore than I raised him to do hers. But it took him some time to realize that he'd been foolish."  
  
"And the second time they broke it off?" Miranda asked.  
  
"You know, I don't know if Andy didn't have the right of it. Not that he'd intentionally try to take advantage of her. But the two of them could never find the line between being friends and being together. They were better as friends when they first met then they ever were when they got together, you know, romantically. But at that age, kids are all hormones and you can't tell them anything."  
  
Miranda sighed. "How old are your girls, Miranda." Natalie asked.  
  
"Thirteen. High school freshmen. They're just starting to..."  
  
"Grow up," Natalie finished. "It's hell - even when they're good kids - and Nate was a good kid. But they come through it and then you have these wonderful young people in your life. Way more energy than you, but someone who knows you and someone you can talk to." Now the tears fell, silently. Miranda reached out and put her hand around Natalie's.  
  
"I can imagine no greater loss," Natalie. "If there's ever anything you need. I, well, just let me know."  
  
Natalie smiled and dabbed her face with a handkerchief. "Sorry," she said. "It's what I miss the most you know. The phone calls out of the blue when he was on top of the world, just wanting to share it with me. I miss that the most." Miranda nodded again. "Well," she said feigning brightness, "where are my manners. Let me pour you another cup of coffee.  
  
"I wouldn't say no." Miranda smiled at her.  
  
"And another piece of cake," Natalie asked.  
  
"No. If I have one more crumb, I'll sit here and eat all of it in front of you." Miranda said.  
  
Natalie laughed. "Well if I had a figure like yours, Miranda, I'd do what I could to keep it too." She got up and poured them all another cup.  
  
"Natalie," Miranda asked when she had sat down again, "do you mind if I ask you some questions about Nate's affairs?"  
  
"Oh," his mother laughed, "he was never serious about any of those girls."  
  
Now Miranda laughed. "I actually meant his business affairs, but since you mention his Lotherio phase, I have some questions about that too."  
  
Natalie blushed. "Sorry," she said.  
  
"No, don't be silly." Miranda said reassuringly. "Let me ask you this, did he ever talk about any of the girls he dated after he and Andréa broke up the second time?"  
  
"Oh," she answered, "he mentioned some names. That restaurant become a bit of thing for the young, about town types when it first opened. There was a girl, she was an actress. Mary, Mary - let me think. Oh, I know, Mary Fishman. They went out a few times. And there was a model. What one of your models would be doing eating chowder and lobster rolls, I'm sure I don't know, but - what was her name? Diane, Diana White, I think. And a girl from the law firm that worked on the papers setting up the partnership. Karen. What was her name? Oh, I can't remember. There where others but I'd only get reports on the one he dated more than two or three times. I can check my email to see if he ever mentioned them and let you know.  
  
"That would be very kind of you." Miranda said.  
  
"You know," Natalie said suddenly. "Lily Goodwin would know. She and Nate became quite close. She more Andy's friend than Nate's at first. But she was very angry with Andy when they first broke up." At Miranda' raised eyebrow, she added, "Oh, no. Nothing like that. Just friends. I think they both would have found it too strange to take up with one another even after they stopped seeing Andy. Poor Andy, it must have been such a hard time for her." Miranda thought of her own behavior at the time in question and suddenly felt ashamed of herself. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to having.  
  
"Yes, well," she said coughing slightly, "let me ask you some questions about the restaurant. Did you know anything about how the business was structured?"  
  
"Just that they were going to be partners. Doug was doing all the financial planning. It was kind of sweet to see the four of them pitching in." Natalie replied.  
  
"Do you have any of the files Nathaniel might have kept for the restaurant?" Miranda asked.  
  
"Doug and Lily brought his things home. Just clothes, mostly. But there was a box of things. I haven't brought myself to go through it yet." She sighed.  
  
Miranda said gently. "Would you like me to do it? I could take it with me and sort everything out and then give you a call."  
  
"Oh, would you dear? That would be so lovely." Miranda suddenly realized that grief had made Natalie old. They were of an age, but being "deared" by Nathaniel's mother didn't seem the least bit inappropriate.  
  
"Mrs. Cooper," Jason said suddenly. "After Nate died, do you know how the partnership for the restaurant wound up?"  
  
"No, dear." Natalie said. "Doug would have taken care of all of that."  
  
"Did he have you sign anything," Miranda asked.  
  
"Let me think, Natalie said. "You know, he did. After the funeral. He was very sweet about it. I'm sure he explained everything to me but I was such a mess, I couldn't tell you today a single thing he said."  
  
"Not to worry," Miranda said, "I'm sure Jason and his colleagues will be able to suss everything out from the papers."  
  
"Oh good," Natalie said, suddenly looking quite exhausted. "I'd be glad if I've helped you in anyway. Let me just run upstairs. It's in his room." She disappeared out of the kitchen. Miranda and the lawyer sat in silence, hearing her footsteps on the stairs and overhead, then down the stairs again. The  
  
"Natalie," Miranda said after she had put the box on the kitchen table, "Andréa asked me, if I thought it wouldn't upset you too much, to tell you how sorry she is that you lost Nathaniel. She said to tell you that she always loved him even when she wasn't in love with him and if you ever want to call her and talk about him, she would love to chat with you. But she would understand if you didn't, as well."  
  
Natalie tried to smile with her pressed lips together, but the pain in her eyes betrayed the effort. "She's such a good kid, Andy is. You take care of her," she said suddenly fierce, looking Miranda directly in the eye. "Andy's a keeper. Tell her when I can, I'll call her. I'd like to talk to her about Nate. It would be a comfort."  
  
As they were putting on their coats, Natalie looked at them and asked, "are you going to see Andy's parents?" When Miranda nodded, she continued, "they're a little rigid. Watch your step. They never really got Andy and they don't know what to do now. Neither of them are very comfortable when they don't know what to do." It was a feeling Miranda understood quite well. She kissed Natalie on the cheek and whispered, "I'm serious. If you need anything call." Then she followed Jason out of the house and down the driveway to the waiting limo.

#  
That night in the hotel, Miranda, without the aid of any assistant, she noted with satisfaction, managed to make a FaceTime call home. Her iPad revealed Caroline, Cassidy and Andréa in pajamas, squeezed together to fit into the camera view of Cassandra's new laptop.  
  
"Bobbsey's, I miss you!" Miranda said.  
  
"So what am I, chopped liver?" Andy asked in faux indignation.  
  
"Andréa, you are the person who ensures that I have a constant supply of hot coffee. Trust me, I missed you desperately."  
  
The girls found this very funny. Andy asked, "what, the lawyer guy isn't very fetching?"  
  
Miranda gave Andy a small smile and shook her head. "Not like you, Andréa. I fear that I am spoiled for life. How was school girls?" Miranda asked, shifting gears. She listened to them chatter and observed Andréa, asking herself, "are we flirting? Is this fair to her?"  
  
"Yes to a spring sport girls. "Miranda said, when the girls finally stopped their collective daily brain dump. "But one sport only. You must choose. Field Hockey or Soccer. I'm happy with either, although I confess I don't know the rules to field hockey yet."  
  
"Oh, I could teach you that, Miranda." Andréa interjected.  
"You know Field Hockey?" Caroline asked. "I thought they didn't hav  
e it in the Midwest?"  
"They have it in Ohio." Andy explained. "Not many other places, but I grew up playing it."  
  
"Cool," said Cassidy appreciatively. "You can give us pointers."  
  
"I'll be glad to. And Miranda, I'll be happy to explain the rules to you. They're complicated but not impossible."  
  
"How delightful." Miranda dead panned.  
  
"Great. Thanks, Mom. Now tell us about your day. How was Mrs. Cooper. How about Andy's folks?" Cassidy, as usual, was all business.  
Miranda described her meeting with Natalie. "Justin is going through the documents in the box Natalie gave us tonight. He'll have a memo up on the server before he goes to bed and see to it that the documents get scanned tomorrow after we get back."  
  
"Gosh, Miranda. Aren't you even going to get dinner."  
  
"Andréa. It's Cincinnati. I doubt I'll do much better or worse than room service."  
  
"Oh, snap!" Andy laughed. "What about poor Justin?"  
  
"Oh, he's thrilled." She answered dryly. "These young lawyers would give their eye teeth for the opportunity to review documents. I have to commend Mac. Runway could do with some of that work ethic."  
  
"Hey!" Andy protested. "I resembled that insinuation." Miranda rolled her eyes and the girls laughed. After they quieted down, Andy grew serious. "What about my folks?" She asked quietly.  
  
Miranda had spent a considerable part of the afternoon anticipating Andréa's question. The Sachs had greeted Andrea and Justin coldly and offered them no refreshments after they showed them into their living room. Richard, Andréa's father, was openly hostile to Miranda.  
  
"It's your fault she's even in this mess." He hissed.  
  
"That's simply not true, Mr. Sachs." Miranda replied evenly.  
  
"Richard, please. Mrs. Priestly has been very generous to Andy," Louise, Andy's mother interjected.  
  
"Miranda, please," Miranda murmured.  
  
"So her money now can just override how she treated Andy when she worked at Runway?"  
  
Louise looked at her husband sternly. "Richard, we cannot afford the bail or a lawyer for Andy. Do you want her in jail?" Miranda looked around the room and wondered at Louise's assertions. The house was lovely in a well to do suburban kind of way. The neighborhood was far nicer than Natalie's. The Sach's household furnishings, while a bit pedestrian, were clearly more expensive than those in the Cooper home, as well. Surely, they could at least have afforded a bail bondsman. Louise observed Miranda assessing the room. "Our son, Ben, is going to medical school next year. We need to be able to finance his education."  
  
"Louise, please!" Richard interjected. "We are not required to explain our decisions to anyone."  
  
"Anyone but Andy, perhaps." Miranda said. "But we're not here to ask you about your choices. Justin has some questions about Nathaniel, Lillian and Douglas." Miranda decided that Richard' hostility towards her would undermine the quality of the interview. So she took Justin's legal pad and pen and began to act as scribe. Justin, who knew that he'd been called up from the minors to pitch in the World Series conducted the best interview of his life. Miranda's notes, of course, were virtually verbatim.  
  
By the time Justin was done it became obvious to Miranda that the Sachs thought Andréa had killed Nathaniel. When she said as much to Andréa's parents, Louise hung her head. "I didn't think she had it in her," she said. "But I just don't believe in coincidences."  
  
Richard snorted. "Look," he said abruptly. "I'm a lawyer. I've looked at the case file. There's no other possible explanation for Nate's death. I liked Nate. He was a good guy. If it hadn't been for you Andy would still be with him and none of this would have happened."  
  
"Well," said Miranda getting up and handing the notepad to Justin, "I happen to disagree with you strongly. Let me give you my card," she said, reaching into her bag. "I've put our house line and Andy's new cell on it should you wish to get in touch with her."  
  
Louise took it quickly, before Richard could refuse it. "Thank you," she said quietly."  
  
Miranda, looked at the camera on the iPad and said softly. "They remain very angry, Andréa. I'll be writing the interview memo for that session. It should go up on the server by tomorrow. Andréa, your mother took your phone numbers. She will probably call you. I just can't tell you how soon."  
  
Andy sighed and looked away from the camera.  
  
"Yes, well, thanks for trying." Andy said dully.  
  
"Bobbseys," Miranda said in a voice that the girls knew meant direct orders.  
  
"Andréa is understandably feeling down. I expect you to do something about that. You may resort to ice cream if, in your estimation, the circumstances demand that level of intervention."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," said Cassidy, snapping off a credible salute. Andy smiled at her weakly.  
  
"Mom," asked Caroline seriously.  
  
"Yes, darling." Her mother replied.  
  
"If we feel circumstances warrant, may we add chocolate sauce? At this, Andy laughed out loud."  
  
"Caroline," Miranda said, seriously, you may go as far as chocolate sundaes.". The girls jumped up from the sofa and did a happy dance.  
  
"Thank you, Miranda," Andy said with a smile. "You're welcome, Andrea," Miranda replied. I'll be back in the office by noon tomorrow. I'll call you when we've landed with a better ETA.


	14. Chapter 14

The girls were right, Andy decided. Miranda's war council was cool. She thought for a moment about some of the women she had come to know at Rikers after she had been remanded and wondered how their trials would have turned out had they enjoyed the resources Miranda was devoting to her case. She was very lucky and very grateful. She wondered how she could ever repay Miranda for the immediate confidence she had shown in her innocence. She wondered if gratitude could form the basis of a a true, what, affection, friendship, something more? Any of these required a foundation of equality and she feared that equality and gratitude - and Andy knew in her case the gratitude included her very life - did not coexist easily in human connections. Before she could follow these thoughts to the tangled, unhappy morass they would inevitably lead to, Miranda called the group to order.  
  
"Saul," Miranda began. "What is the status of Andy's ankle monitor."  
  
"They've set up the monitoring stations in your hall closet and the closet in your front office at Runway. Andy has to call in when she heads out to any but those two places in Manhattan. We'll have to apply to the court for trips outside Manhattan." He answered.  
  
Miranda looked at the ankle wrap Andy sported with a frown. "Unacceptable. Andy's work will take her all over the city and it's possible to out of state locations as well."  
  
Saul found himself in the unhappy position of relaying someone else's "no," to Miranda.  
  
"I'm sorry Miranda," but out of state without a specific application to the court is unheard of in a capital case." He said.  
  
"He's right, Miranda." Mac intervened quickly. "I had Jason do some research on the restrictions immediately after I got Solly's memo. Travel outside the city is unlikely. Outside the state - well, we couldn't find any instance on record."  
  
Miranda frowned again. "Well, you and Saul will have to confer on extending Andréa's ability to travel, at least to the five boroughs. We have designers and suppliers and shoots everywhere in the city and she must be able to move freely to do her job."  
  
"Miranda, please," Nigel chuckled. "Runway hasn't had a thing to do with Staten Island in its entire existence."  
  
The others laughed and Miranda fought back her own smile. "Fine, Saul, you can trade away Staten Island, but I want, Brooklyn, Queens and Long Island added to the list."  
  
"I'll get on it right away, Miranda." He answered brightly.  
  
Miranda nodded and made a tick on her checklist. "Now, Emily, if you could report on your canvas of the route Mr. Cooper travelled the last time he visited Andréa."  
  
Emily Van Alstrom looked at the confused faces of the others in the room. "Thank you, Miranda. Before I begin, if I might suggest. Perhaps all of you could call me 'Sister Emily," to avoid confusion with Miss Charlton. I normally don't use my title much, but since you all know Emily so well."  
  
"Oh, please," Miranda said dismissively. "I've never confused you with anyone in my entire life."  
  
"Miranda," Emily Charlton said in a warning tone, "I think it's an excellent suggestion. With no disrespect intended, Sister, I would prefer not to be confused with a nun. My social life is bleak enough as it is."  
  
They all laughed and Solly said gallantly. "I find that very hard to believe, Emily."  
  
"Very well, Sister, and Emily." Miranda said, looking speculatively at Solly. "Sister, I believe you were going to report on your canvas."  
  
"Yes." Sister Emily said crisply. "I set up several teams of my clients. One traced the taxis and interviewed the drivers to determine where Mr. Cooper stopped before arriving at Ms. Sach's apartment."  
  
"Please, Sister, call me Andy." Andy interrupted. She smiled. "The only people who don't are Miranda and the prosecution team."  
  
"Thank you, Andy," Sister Emily replied and resumed her report. The other teams interviewed the employees of any shops or bars or restaurants that would have been open on his route." Jason sighed in sympathy and felt a profound sense of relief that Mac had not assigned this tedious job to the lawyers and paralegals on the case.  
  
"It took more than a few days, but eventually, Gladys and Evelyn discovered that Mr. Cooper had stopped at an establishment called "The Blue Goose."

"The Goose?" Andy said in surprise.  
  
"Yes." Sister Emily confirmed.  
  
"Do you know the place, Andréa." Miranda inquired.  
  
"Yes," Andy replied. "It was kind of our hangout when we first moved to the city - Doug and Lily and Nate and I. I haven't been there in an age."  
  
"Well, Mr. Cooper had." Sister Emily continued. "He sat at the bar and requested a brandy and soda. The fellow tending bar that night remembers it quite clearly."  
  
"What an old fashioned drink." Nigel observed.  
  
"It was a home remedy for an upset stomach." Andy explained. "Nate swore by it."  
  
"The bartender, a gentleman named Juan Cortilla, recalls that Mr. Cooper claimed to be quite nervous and that he had an upset stomach. She turned to Mac. "I'll post a memo tonight to the server for your with all the identifying information. Mr. Castillo remembers Andy quite fondly and is anxious to assist."  
  
"Juan's a good guy." Andy said.  
  
"Apparently you helped him with a paper he was writing for a college course." Sister Emily, replied.  
  
"Of course you did," Emily said with a touch of acidity."  
  
"He makes way too big of a deal out of it. I just gave him a few pointers." Andy protested. "Besides, Em, it looks like being nice has a payoff."  
  
"Oh, please." Emily said bitingly, "As if you planned this."  
  
"If I may continue?" Sister Emily, asked rhetorically.  
  
Andy grinned at Emily. "Sorry, Sister."  
  
"After finishing his brandy, Mr. Cooper asked for a glass of water and took a small zip lock pouch from his jacket pocket and poured some of the contents of the packet into his water. He drank the glass of water down, said something like, "That's better, wish me luck Juan," and left the premises.  
  
Jason spoke up. "None of the reports from the police or coroner's office mention any such packet."  
  
"That," Sister Emily said with evident pleasure, "is because he forgot it on the bar."  
  
"Dear God," said Mac, "don't tell me Castillo kept it."  
  
"I am afraid that I must, Mac," she replied with a smile. "He kept it until Evelyn asked for it." At Mac's frown, she hurried on. "Gladys had the good sense to have him write out a statement describing how he acquired the baggie, where he had kept it and the fact that he had turned it over to Evelyn. She then had Evelyn give Mr. Castillo a receipt for the packet, and make out a copy of the receipt for herself.  
  
"My god, her price is above rubies." Mac said appreciatively.  
  
"She was a paralegal in a firm that did criminal defense work before her difficulties." Sister Emily replied pointedly.  
  
"Let me get in touch with our legal assistant coordinator," Mac said. "I believe I can make this happen."  
  
"Andréa," Miranda said, "she'll need some help finding a place to stay, a decent wardrobe. That sort of thing. Coordinate with Emily. Oh, excuse me," she said with a dry smile, "Sister Emily."  
  
"Yes, Miranda," said Andréa and scribbled a few lines in her notebook. At this, Miranda smiled at her affectionately. Andy didn't see the smile. But Nigel did and made a mental note himself.  
  
"But, Jason, protested, "Where is it now?"  
  
"In my purse," said Sister Emily, reaching for her bag, "with similar statements and receipts ready to be completed once Mac tells me to whom I should give the item."  
  
"Emily," Miranda said with a smile. "They broke the mould with you. If you should ever tire of working for peace and justice, do let me know."  
  
"Yes, Miranda," she said, imitating Andy perfectly.  
  
The others laughed and then Jimmy said, "Emily, I believe that it's my name you'll be adding to your receipts and statements. I'll have one of my graduate students do an analysis tomorrow and post a report as soon as it's done."  
  
"But what does this mean?" Andy said suddenly.  
  
"Everything or nothing," said Mac, "depending on what Jimmy finds. If it was poison, then it was we can make a very strong case that it was suicide. If it was alka-seltzer, then we can rule out suicide."  
  
"I think the better question is why the police didn't find this in the first place," said Solly.  
  
"Indeed, Saul," said Miranda. "I agree with you."

#

They stopped for coffee. After a few minutes, Miranda brought everyone's attention back to focus and after consulting her checklist, said. "Jason, I believe you have some information to report about the restaurant business."  
  
"Yes, Miranda," he said and swallowed a bit nervously. Andy, who could imagine the pressure that performing in front of his boss when Miranda was the client, smiled at him encouragingly.  
  
"Well," he began. "We went through the materials that Mrs. Cooper gave us. He turned to Miranda, "I made an inventory of the items in the box. It was mostly related to the restaurant, but there were some personal items. I sent the list to Mrs. Cooper and told her I would deliver anything she wanted."  
  
"Thank you Jason. That was very kind of you." Andy and Emily's jaws dropped at Miranda's explicit expression of gratitude."  
  
"Andréa," she continued, "make a note to have me call Natalie tomorrow. She'll want someone to talk to. Mac," she said turning to her old friend, "you have an excellent associate here. I hope you appreciate him." Mac smiled benignly as Jason blushed a fierce red that ran to the roots of his hair.  
  
"Um, so anyway," Jason continued, "we took that information, the information from Andy's files and all the public records and analyzed the business. It's doing quite well, especially for a new restaurant in Manhattan. There are a few odd items we need to track down."  
  
"Do, tell." Miranda said.  
  
"Well, first of all," Jason said, "when Mr. Cooper died, the partnership ended. That's typical under the law. Mr. Templeton reorganized the business as a closely held corporation, shares held by Ms. Goodwin and Mr. Templeton and two trusts, one to benefit Mrs. Cooper and one in Andy's name. Ms. Goodwin and Mr. Templeton are the trustees of these entities and have the right to vote the shares in the corporation they hold."  
  
Nigel shook his head. "And for those of us whose native tongue is human, that means?"  
  
"That means, Nigel," Miranda responded angrily, that Mrs. Cooper did not receive a payout from the partnership on Nathaniel's death and that Andréa has lost any ability to intervene in the way the restaurant is run." She turned to Andy and continued. "Douglas has frozen you out of the business but kept your money."  
  
There was a brief pause as the members of the team digested this. Jason continued. "The file is pristine on this, however. Mrs. Coopers papers include a long letter, written in laymen's terms, explaining the new organization of the business and urging her to consult with her own attorney. Andy's file has a similar letter.""  
  
"I don't think Natalie knows any attorneys," Andréa said slowly. "I know she couldn't afford one."  
  
"Were these the documents Mr. Templeton gave to Natalie to sign at her son's funeral?" Miranda asked darkly.  
  
"I don't know, Miranda," Jason said slowly. "I'll have to follow up with her. I'm sorry about the cost of a second trip, but I didn't realize the significance of the documents until I read them in conjunction with Andy's files."  
  
"Andréa," Miranda asked gently, "do you remember what Douglas said to you when he gave you the papers to sign?"  
  
"I do," Andy said. "Now, I do. He came to visit me in jail. He explained about having to wind up the partnership with Nate dead. And then he said something about how it wasn't clear if I could get a payout for my share of the partnership. The prosecutor could stop it, saying I was benefiting from a crime. Dougie thought setting up my share as a trust could hold it safe until after the trial." She paused for a moment and then added, bitterly, "That was when Dougie believed I was innocent."  
  
"Is this what typically happens in such cases." Miranda asks.  
  
"Well," Jason temporized, "these kind of cases aren't really typical. I talked one of the guys in corporate and he said it was a clever way to protect Andy's investment."  
  
Miranda snorted. "Clever if the trust restricted Mr. Templeton's ability to borrow against the funds in it."  
  
"I agree with you, Miranda," Mac said. "I'm going to have one of our corporate paralegals review all the filings for the trusts and the corporation. There probably won't be much on the corporation - the whole point of a closely held corporation is to limit the amount of paperwork you have to do. But we'll look and I'll have Jason post a memo for everyone. Jason smiled brightly and added another assignment to his to do list.  
  
"I wish there was some way to suss out Mr. Templeton's motives." Miranda mused.  
  
"I would prefer that Andy not have any contact with Doug or Lily, Miranda," Solly said quickly. When Miranda raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he explained. "It's pretty clear that they are prosecution witnesses. They both declined to talk to me before they testified and they broke off contact with Andy shortly after she was remanded to Rikers. I assume that anything Andy might say to either one of them would be relayed back to LaToya Vance as quickly as they could make the call."  
  
"It's a shame, really." Said Mac. "Ms. Goodwin curating the new show by Lady Z at her gallery. The opening's coming up and the after party would be the perfect opportunity for Andy to reconnect with Lily. I assume Doug will be there."  
  
Andy nodded. "Oh yeah, none of us would miss a show Lily curated - if only because the parties are so great. I didn't realize I shouldn't be in touch with them," she said to Solly.  
  
"You haven't been in contact with either of them, have you?" Solly asked in alarm.  
  
"No." Andy sighed. "I'm not quite ready to make nice."  
  
"That is completely understandable," Miranda said firmly to Andy, "but I do think we should take advantage of the opening to suss them out."  
  
"Who, or what, is Lady Z?" Jimmy asked suddenly. Miranda, Solly and Emily stared at him in astonishment."  
  
Andy laughed. "Jimmy, I don't have a clue, either. Lily is always on the prowl for the latest, edgy, out there artist for the gallery. I'm such a philistine I went for the hors-d'oeuvres and never paid much attention to the art."  
  
"Really, Andy," Emily sniffed. "Don't people in Iowa do anything but watch football for entertainment?"  
  
Andy laughed out loud. "Ohio, Em."  
  
"Whatever," Em replied primly.  
  
"I don't know much about Midwestern art education," Solly said, gallantly trying to get the conversation back on course. "But I do know that Lady Z is all the rage right now. It's a feminist, hip-hop collective that does amazing, disturbing photography."  
  
"Really, Andy," Emily chided, "it's the hottest thing since Maplethorpe."  
  
"So," drawled Miranda, "it sounds like the two of you know the contemporary art scene fairly well."  
  
"Part of the job for Emily," Nigel observed. "But Solly, you're a dark horse. Do many public defenders follow Manhattan gallery shows as closely as you?"  
  
Solly blushed. "My mother was an artist. She raised me to go to galleries the way some mothers send their kids to school."  
  
"Lermberger. Lermberger." Miranda said closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the chair. "Saul, I don't believe I've hear of an artist with that name. I'm sure I would have remembered it if I did."  
  
"She showed under her maiden name." Solly said. "My dad's handle isn't exactly the stuff of legends. When she was alive, she was Marcia Graff in the art world."  
  
"The ceramicist?" Miranda asked.  
  
"Yes," said Saul.  
  
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Saul." Miranda said. "Her passing was a real loss."  
  
"Thank you," Solly said simply.  
  
"But you know," Miranda continued, "I believe if you went to the opening, perhaps with Emily, you might learn a lot. You and Emily actually know about this art and can just happen upon Douglas and Lillian. You'd know what to say without compromising the case and Emily can be quite an effective questioner." Solly positively beamed at the suggestion. Emily was more confused by the compliment than displeased by the prospect, but knew not to question Miranda's suggestion.  
  
"Yes, well, of course," she began. But Nigel cut her off.  
  
"Solly, you'll have to come to Runway before you go to Lily's gallery. I'm sure your suits engender a great deal of sympathy from juris, but I think to work the authentic, hipster bohemian look, you better trust your clothing choices to me."  
  
Emily looked so relieved that Solly quickly agreed.  
  
"Fine," said Miranda. "Andréa, I'll leave the organization of the details to you. Are we done here, everyone? Thank you so much for coming tonight. Andréa will be in touch with you to determine the best date for our next meeting."  
  
Emily and Andy grinned at each when Miranda chose not to end the meeting of her war council with the familiar, "That's all."


	15. Chapter 15

No makeover at Runway was more storied than Nigel's recreation of Andy, but his work with Solly would be spoken of for years with great respect. Emily's rather girlish reaction to the makeover would be spoken of for years in wonder. But never in Emily's presence.

Andy found out that the Lady Z show would open the following Friday. Nigel's first injunction to Solly was, 'don't shave.' The attorney took a fair degree of razzing at the office but since he didn't have any court appearances scheduled, his supervisor didn't mind. He took the day of the opening off and arrived at Runway shortly after noon.

Miranda called Andy into her office after she returned from escorting Solly to the Beauty department, where he was schedule for a hair and beard styling.

"How is Saul?" She inquired when Miranda stepped through the door.

Andy smiled. "Nervous and eager. About what you'd expect."

"Speaking from personal experience are we?" Miranda asked. She sounded supercilious but her eyes twinkled. Andy laughed. "He was kind of cute. I hope Emily treats him well."

"I can't decide about Saul," Miranda admitted in a puzzled voice. "A bumbling, hapless idiot or your generation's Columbo? Well, let's hope Nigel can work his magic. I'd like to see him before he leaves the premises."

"Yes, Miranda." Andy said.

"Call Testino. I want to talk with him about the Montauk shoot. I need the monthly cash flow run from accounting yesterday - which is when I asked them for it. Call Emily - Sister Emily," she continued, rolling her eyes, "and see whether she's available for lunch next Tuesday. Find some place that specializes in vegetarian food that I will be able to endure and make us reservations there. Remember I have that wretched dinner tonight. Would you mind keeping the girl's company? I'll be back as soon as I have Carson's check in hand." 

Carson was a potential investor Miranda was wooing. Andy sometimes thought that Miranda believed that investors should be thankful for the opportunity to give her their money, but she knew Miranda was trying to organize shareholder support to check Irv's unending plans to dethrone her, so she held her tongue.

#

Nigel called Andy in the early afternoon to say that Solly was ready for his big reveal. Remembering his awkward gallantry at the council of war, Andy turned to Emily and asked, "Hey, Em, can you pick up Solly from Nigel? Miranda wants to see him before he leaves and I'm up to my ears in next week's schedule."

"And I'm sitting here contemplating my navel?" Emily asked in a sarcastic huff. "Oh well, I promised Jocelyn that I'd drop these proofs off once Miranda was done with them. I suppose I might as well."

Andy hid her smile and said, "Thanks, Em. I owe you.

Emily returned within five minutes, batting her eyelashes and hanging on every word that Solly uttered about the artists who comprised Lady Z. "Miranda, Solly's here," Andy called out as soon as Emily had opened the doors to the outer office.

"Thank you, Andréa," Miranda said drolly. She had come to stand in her office doorway, watching Andy as she stared at her monitor like it was the philosopher's stone as her fingers flew across the keyboard. Andy, absorbed in her work, hadn't noticed. "If only all my assistants had as keen a grasp of the obvious as you." But there was a smile in her eyes and no bite in her tone. Emily nevertheless giggled. At that, both Miranda and Andy turned to stare at the first assistant and the attorney.

"Woah, Solly," said Andy, "you are styling it, man." He wore black stove pipe jeans from Tom Ford and a pair of Ford's Oxford sneakers, a Versace caramel colored cashmere turtle neck and an IKKS charcoal grey jacket with stunningly thin lapels. The stylists in Beauty had shaved his beard to a three day stubble and finished him off with a half-shaved hair cut with the longer top blown up and back over his head. 

"I see Nigel has worked his magic, Saul. But remember, he had excellent resources to start with."

Solly grinned happily. "I'll defer to your expertise Miranda. But where was Nigel when I was getting ready for my senior prom, that's what I want to know." Emily giggled again. Miranda, who did not feel it politic to demolish Emily's ego in front of a relative stranger, especially one to whom the assistant was obviously attracted, said abruptly, "Yes, well, enough of this chit chat. Saul, if I might have a word." She returned to her desk, directing Solly to close the door behind him.

"Andrea's arranged for dinner for you and Emily at Pastis at 8:00 pm. Make her eat something, I'm sure the drinks at the opening will consist largely of raw ethanol." Solly nodded easily. "I trust your judgment entirely on how to manage your exchanges with Mr. Templeton and Ms. Goodwin. If it's possible to determine how Ms. Goodwin landed such an artist, that information would be useful as well. Thank you for doing this Saul. I expect it's not in the public defender's manual and I do appreciate it. That is all."

Solly smiled, having been fully briefed by Emily on the walk from the Closet on Miranda's office style. As Solly exited her office, Miranda's voice floated behind him. "Emily." Emily, whose attention had been completely captured by Solly's emergence from her office, appeared not to have heard Miranda. Andy's jaw dropped. "Emily," Miranda called again, "sometime in this millennium would be preferable." Emily shook herself and scooted behind Solly to walk into Miranda's office, embarrassed and delighted all at once.

"Yes, Miranda," Emily said.

"Mr. Lermberger appears to have cleaned up nicely, has he not?" Miranda asked.

Emily knew this was not a question, and she agreed with Miranda. "Yes, he looks, well, stylish. Quite charming."

"You will need to look appropriately compatible with him, Emily. Go to the Closet and have Nigel pick something out for you. Then you may go home and prepare for the evening. Saul will pick you up at 7:30 and take you to dinner before the opening."

"Yes, Miranda." Emily said breathlessly. It wasn't a date date. It was vaguely work related. It was doing a favor for her boss. But it was dinner and a gallery opening in couture with a charming, age appropriate man who shared some of her interests. Emily was happy.

"And Emily, nothing too outré. You don't want to draw attention to yourself. You are an information seeking mission. I shall be very disappointed to see you on Page 6 tomorrow."

"Of course, Miranda." Emily said, staring at the typically gruff but oddly generous person who had taken over her boss' body.

"And you are still here because...?" Miranda said archly.

"Yes, Miranda, I'm going, thank you." Emily stuttered as she turned, ran to her desk, grabbed her purse and then her coat from the closet as she hurried out the office door to Nigel.

Once she was gone, Miranda burst out laughing.

Andy grinned and said in a voice deliberately pitched to carry to her boss, "Miranda Priestly, a yenta. As I live and breathe." Then she returned to the logistical nightmare that was Miranda's schedule with a happy sigh and went back to work.

#

"Since the dawn of time, men and women have sought to find the perfect mate. In Jane Austin, love was pursued in country houses." Andy read the words to herself and groaned internally.

"It sucks, right," said Caroline. "It's trash. I know. You don't have to read anymore. I'll just rip it up and start over." She jumped up from the sofa in the den where she had been sitting next to Andy as Andy read. Grabbing the paper, she walked towards the door.

"Hey Caroline, wait." Said Andy. Give me a chance, here, bud. I didn't even say one word."

"I know but your face gives everything away, Andy," Caroline huffed.

"Look, I'll be honest with you," Andy replied evenly, "it needs work. Is this your first draft," she asked.

"Yeah." Caroline admitted.

"Is it due tomorrow?" Andy asked.

"No. Monday." Caroline said with a sigh. But it sucks and I can't figure out why. And it's driving me nuts."

"Caroline, that's why we edit. You write the first draft to figure out what you think and you edit to actually say what you think. This is actually really good."

"How can it need work and be good." Caroline objected hotly. Don't be nice to me."

"Caroline," Andy assured her. "I am never nice about writing. I always say exactly what I think. But you have the absolute prerequisite to a good paper already done."

"What's that," asked Caroline sarcastically. "A shitty first draft?"

"Bingo! Yes!" Andy answered enthusiastically. "If you have a shitty first draft you know where you want to end up and you're not so wedded to what you've written that you won't give up a phrase or a paragraph or even a page. Annie LaMott wrote a whole book about this. We should see if it's on Kindle."

"Annie who?" Caroline asked?

Andy sighed. "Never mind. Listen, go reread the last page of your essay and then tell me what you think your paper's about."

Caroline flopped back down on the couch next to her and turned to the last page of her paper. After a moment she said, "We know Elizabeth and Darcy are in love because of the troubles they went through. If it had just been courtship, like Jane and Bingley, we'd know they were attracted to each other but Austen is telling us that real love is working through problems together. So even though she didn't write about their life after they were married we knew they'd have a good marriage because they had already been tested."

"That," said Andy, "is an excellent thesis. Write that down quick before you forget it." So the evening progressed, Cassidy at her computer and Caroline and Andy talking about Pride and Prejudice.

Miranda, standing at the door of the den watched them, absorbed in the conversation and found herself smiling with a sudden affection.

"Wickham's duplicity is discovered by Elizabeth with great shock," Andy read. 

"Sounds clunky," Caroline sighed.

"It is," Andy agreed. "Do you know why?"

Caroline thought a minute and said, "weak main verb, passive voice."

"Fix it." Andy commanded.

Caroline thought for a second and then said, "Elizabeth discovers Darcy's duplicity, which...I want to do something about the shocking part but I can't figure it out off the top of my head."

"You know, Caroline, you've done a lot of great work tonight. Maybe you should put this aside and go back to it tomorrow."

"Andréa's right, Bobbsey. It's impossible to do a good job editing when you're tired." Miranda said.

"Mom!" Caroline exclaimed. Cassidy heard the shout and came thundering down the stairs. "You're back! You're back!."

Miranda shuddered but managed a smile. "Indeed, Bobbsey."

"How was your dinner?" Andy asked. 

"Boring but successful," Miranda replied. 

"Good." Andy said with a smile.

"Cassidy, I can see what Caroline and Andréa have been up to all evening. What have you been doing."

"Oh, I was just finishing up our research report on Doug Templeton to give to Andy." Cassidy replied.

"Your what?" Miranda asked.

"Your what?" Andy echoed.

"Well we just went on the web to see if we could write a profile of Doug and Lily and Nate based on what was available through Google."

"Gosh," Andy said, "I don't even remember asking you to do that."

"Well," Cassidy said, her eyes fixed on her toes as she spoke, "you didn't ask us exactly, but you said we could help with the research and you and Mom have been so busy we thought we'd just go ahead and do it."

"Stop." Miranda commanded. Three sets of eyes turned to her.

"I must commend you two for your initiative, but I want to be comfortable when I hear this. I'll go up and change. If Caroline and Andréa could prepare some tea while Cassidy reviews what she wants to say, we can reconvene in ten minutes and get to business."

"Seems like a plan," Andy said as she rose from the couch to go to the kitchen. The tea was served when Miranda returned to the den, ten minutes later.

"Proceed, Cassidy," Miranda said after she took a sip of camomile tea.

#

Emily Van Alstrom, walked into the Rust Scupper and spotted two friends. "June, Martha," she said walking to their table. What a surprise." 

"Hi Emily," Martha replied. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm between meetings with the Great and the Good, and actually have time to grab a bite. A friend of mine told me about this place and I thought I'd give it a try. Any good?"

June was swirling the last of her French fries in ketchup and nodded. "It's the real deal. I've had the best lobster role that Lubec, Maine has to offer and I can tell you, these people don't have to apologize to anyone for their menu."

"Good to hear," said Emily. "Would you mind watching my things while I place my order?"

"Not at all," said Martha. Emily deposited her coat and briefcase on the chair next to Martha and took her place in a long line that moved quickly. 

"I'll have the Down Easter," she requested when her turn came, wincing as she paid the $29 the order cost. A lobster roll, a cup of clam chowder, a side of fries and a can of Baxter beer for $29 dollars.

"Kind of pricey," she observed when she sat down.

"Yes, it is." June agreed. "But have a bite before you complain."

After she swallowed, she sighed. "If they don't have these in heaven," she observed, "I've made some seriously poor life choices." June and Martha laughed.

"They do an amazing business here," Martha reported. The count was at 4700 when we took over for Mary and Robin and we've tracked more than 3000 orders just during the dinner hour."

Emily nodded and looked at her can of beer. Beer that good in a can? She'd have to find a local supplier. 

Martha interrupted her thoughts. "Are Gladys and Evelyn doing the last shift?"

Emily shook her head. "No, I've got them over at the Union Square Farmer's Market. They're trying to track down the egg seller. Nina and Julissa will do the shift to closing."


	16. Chapter 16

Dinner was awkward and exquisite. Each stopped themself in the middle of a passionate disquisition, fearing that they were monopolizing the conversation. Abrupt silences become comfortable. Then suddenly they were talking with each other. Each one's words tumbled over those of the other like water bubbling over rocks in a stream.

They loved their jobs. They loved art - the modern, edgy stuff. Not that either would kick a Rembrandt out of the bedroom, but each found the work hanging in galleries now tended to force questions on them that they enjoyed thinking about. Emily, because of Miranda knew more about contemporary design. Solly, because of his mother, had more to say about the plastic arts.

No one's perfect. Emily's most glaring flaw was her passionate hatred of American baseball; Solly's was his passionate devotion to the Mets. Each had suffered enough in the Manhattan dating scene that they regarded these failings as the sand in the oyster's shell.

At 9:30, the maître d', warned by Andy, who had been instructed by Miranda, stopped by to inquire about their enjoyment of the meal. Gasps as they realized the time, gracious words about bouillabaisse and steak frites. Emily caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirror's that decorated the bistro's walls. She had the look of a woman who was in the neighborhood of happiness. She laughed joyfully and in response to Solly's questioning glance, she smiled ruefully and as she slipped her arm through his said simply, "I'm having such a lovely time."

He grinned the way artless way American men do and said in reply, "Me too." 

#

The reception for Lady Z's opening was in full swing when they arrived. "Let's look around for a bit before we go and beard the lions," Solly suggested. Emily was happy to follow his lead. She was very taken by an exhibit of photographs tracing the transition of young girls in fundamentalist Christian, Jewish and Islamic families from childhood to adolescence. He couldn't tear himself away from a series of black and white photographs comparing gyms and cafeterias and classrooms in New York public and private high schools.

Their complete absorption in the show was suddenly disrupted when they heard someone shout over the din of the reception, "Solly! Solly Lermberger, is that you?"

Emily watched as Solly spun around and called in reply, "Aunt Keisha?" and then hugged a tiny, black woman with a bit of back and a bit of grey, who had come to stand beside him. "Are you part of Lady Z, now?" he asked.

"More pinch hitting, maybe trying out, than being a part of it. But I was asked at the last minute and this is the place to show for my kind of stuff, so of course I said yes." Solly caught Keisha giving Emily the once over as subtly as she was capable, which is to say, not very much at all.

"Dear Lord, where are my manners?" he asked rhetorically. "Keisha, let me introduce you to my good friend, Emily Charlton. Emily, this is Keisha Washington. If my family had godparents, she would be my godmother. I like to think of her as my virtual Aunt. She was my mother's oldest friend and she's one of my very best friends."

"I'd bother to blush at such kind words," said Keisha giving Emily a spontaneous hug, but that would interfere with me telling you that you'd better be good to and for this boy or you'll answer to me. Besides he should be blushing enough now for both of us. Emily, still shocked by the hug, practically reeled when she suddenly understood that Aunt Keisha was, in fact, that Keisha Washington, whose work was already selling well out of any price range she'd be able to afford for many a year. She had barely stuttered out an, "of course" and a nervous smile when Keisha had turned to Solly and asked, in a suddenly serious tone.

"How's your Dad."

"You know how it is," Solly replied sadly. "A day at a time, some days better and some days worse."

"I'm sorry I've been so scarce," Keisha apologized, but I've spent the last three weeks in the dark room getting ready for this. I promise you I'll call him up this weekend and get him out of the house."

"Please," Solly said, "you practically lived there the last six months. But if you find the time, I know he'd love to see you."

Keisha's answer was interrupted by Lily Goodwin who seemed to have materialized into their midst. "Excuse me," she said politely and clearly not recognizing either Solly or Emily, as she put a hand on Keisha's arm. "Keisha, I think I have a buyer for your Red Hook triptych. Do you think you could over and have a few words with him?"

"Of course, Lily," Keisha replied. "Then grabbing Solly's hand and squeezing it affectionately, she commanded, "and don't you be leaving here before I get a chance to talk to you again, young man." His eyes twinkled and he gave her a mock salute.

#

  "Here," said Cassidy as she handed out copies of a sheet she had titled, "Exhibit 7", "is a timeline I made of Doug's finances." She stood in front of Miranda and Andy, who were relaxing, but attentive on the sofa. The coffee table lay between the pride of Dalton's absolutely unofficial if not underground hacker community and her mother, partly as a precautionary defense, and partly to hold a stack of manilla folders, neatly labeled, which contained the various exhibits she had prepared. Caroline sat in the chair her mother usually took, ready to assist her sister whenever she requested it.

"You'll see," Cassidy continued, "that prior to Nate's death, his savings had been steadily declining and the frequency with which he used his overdraft protection increased."

Miranda's eyes narrowed. Andy's jaw dropped.

"Now, when you superimpose his Tinder traffic over the financial timeline, in Exhibit 8, you will note two important correlations. First, there's a sharp drop in Tinder traffic, that predates the beginning of the checking account issues. Second, shortly after Nate's death, the Tinder account becomes active again. That period is marked by regular deposits in his checking account from an outside account."

"Cassidy," said Miranda slowly, "if I may interrupt you."

Cassidy, clearly prepared to continue on to Exhibit 9, looked up from her notes. "Yes, Mom," she said in a distracted tone.

"How did you manage to obtain access to Mr. Templeton's checking account?" Miranda asked.

"Dictionary mining," Cassidy answered. I showed you the Google profile in Exhibit 5."

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining that more slowly for me." Miranda suggested. Andy looked at her anxiously, but Miranda didn't appear to be at what Runway employees referred to as Defcon territory.

"Sure," Cassidy said with a patronizing grin. "Caroline did a google dump on Doug and organized it for me."

"That was hardly anything." Caroline said.

Andy looked at Exhibit 5 and said, "I disagree Caroline. Very thorough and well organized."

"Which is what I said," said Cassidy impatiently. Miranda looked confused. "Anyway it's clear Doug has a pretty regular Internet handle."

"HunkyDorky!" Andy exclaimed.

"What?" Miranda asked.

"It's the user name he likes on the web. He's used it since college." Andy explained.

"Kind of cute. Kind of lame. And totally not good practice. This guy's supposed to be Wall Street wizard and it was scary easy to get his handle and passwords." Cassidy observed. Miranda blanched.

"Yeah," Caroline agreed. "We got almost nothing on Lily, but Doug was taking candy from a baby."

"Cassidy, darling," Miranda said. Now to Andy's trained eye, she appeared to be making some effort to restrain her temper. "How did you go from HunkyDorky to passwords?"

"That's what I'm trying to explain, Mother." Andy bit her lip as Cassidy pinched her nose, mimicking Miranda' goto gesture for impatient exasperation. "Once you have someone's handle you can got to websites that help you find any other user names they favor."

"Doug was pretty much stuck on HunkyDorky, though." Caroline observed.

"So," Cassidy continued, "we set up a google account and emailed all the common email services - google, yahoo, hotmail with all the variations of his names and initials."

Now Miranda was sputtering. "From the house?" she croaked.

Cassidy looked at her like she was an idiot. "No," she said shortly. "From the internet cafe on 67th and Lex. Anyway, we found an email account at yahoo and then we logged in as Doug and used the "forgot password" link to get into the account."

"Don't they have questions you have to answer?" Miranda asked faintly.

"Exhibit 5, Miranda." said Andy.

"Right," said Cassidy. 

"Boy is he an open book," observed Caroline.

"Anyway," said Cassidy, "Once we got into his email, it was easy enough to figure out where he banked."

"So we did the same thing at his bank," said Caroline. "Which is how Cassidy got all the info for the timeline."

Miranda looked like she might explode, so Andy decided to pre-empt her.

"Cassidy," she said, looking at the red head, not as adult to adolescent but as an equal, "you must promise me that you will always use your powers for good."


	17. Chapter 17

On Tuesday, Miranda had lunch with Sister Emily. As they left the trendy and indeed adequate vegan restaurant Andy had recommended she called the office and told Andy to cancel her afternoon. "I'll pick you up about 5:00 - I'll text you when we're close." She hung up abruptly and Andy wondered for a moment what would have caused her to postpone a meeting with Elspeth Gibson. She didn't dwell on the thought, however, because rescheduling an afternoon on a moment's notice was a task that required a fair amount of focus. The buzz of her phone when Miranda's text came, shortly before 5:00pm, accordingly, startled her. "5 minutes. Downstairs." She read, and then scurried to shut down her computer, gather her things and run to the elevator. 

Emily smiled as she watch Andy dash around the office. Things had changed very much since Andy's first day at Runway and Emily didn't want to see anyone, especially someone who seemed to inspire almost human behavior in Miranda, railroaded on a murder charge. But Andy flitting about in ill-controlled panic still brought a happy gleam to Emily's eye. She thought of Solly and wondered if she should feel guilty for enjoying, just a little bit, Andy's anxiety. "Shan't" she decided.  
  
  
  
#  
  
On Wednesday, Miranda had lunch with Keisha Washington. She was thinking of doing a piece on Lady Z in the next issue. Women of color, feminists, art - all of it, once the artists were properly dressed by Nigel, sounded exactly like the kind of story that would give Runway a bit of edge without seeming to grasp for Brooklyn trendy, as some of the magazines that aspired to rival Runway often did. Emily made the arrangements. Keisha, thank god, ate meat. Miranda returned from lunch looking very thoughtful.  
  
"Andrea," she said as she put her coat and bag on Andy's desk with a contented sigh.  
  
"Yes, Miranda." Andy replied automatically. Arrange for me to have lunch with LaToya Vance tomorrow at that Italian place I like in the village."  
  
"Yes, Miranda," Andy squeaked. She was dying to ask her why. Emily, she saw, was biting her lip to resist the temptation. Miranda smiled benignly at them and walked into her office. "Emily, I'd like the accessories run through moved up. Call Jocelyn and tell her 15 minutes. And Andrea?"  
  
"Yes, Miranda," said Andy.  
  
"Coffee."  
  
"Yes, Miranda," Emily and Andy said in unison.

#  
  
The girls came running when they heard Andy and their mother enter the house that evening. They were, as Caroline observed mordantly to Cassidy with an irritating frequency, grounded till graduate school, but they couldn't sustain the cold shoulder treatment with Miranda for more than a few days. "Hey, Caroline. Hi Cassidy." Andy said as each girl gave Andy and Miranda quick hugs and grabbed their bags.  
  
"Good evening, girls," Miranda added. "Have you managed to avoid breaking federal laws today? Shall I expect the FBI or CIA?"  
  
Caroline laughed easily. Cassidy tried. Andy thought she looked pained. "No, Mother," she said somewhat prissily. "The algebra problem sets required no journeys to the dark side."  
  
"Or even Khan Academy," Caroline added.  
  
"Good," Miranda said firmly. "Now, we're going to change and when we come back down I'd like the table set and dinner served."  
  
Caroline sketched a mock salute, and said, "Yes, Ma'am!" Then she turned on her heel and marched down the hall to the kitchen. Cassidy shrugged and followed her sister.  
  
"Do you think they know that it was your advocacy alone that saved them from the full blast of my wrath?" Miranda asked Andy in a distracted tone.  
  
"Happy to oblige," Andy said with a smile.

#

"So, Andréa," Miranda began after she had made it abundantly clear that no amount of puppy eyes or pleading would get her to divulge the nature of her lunches in the last week, "have you given any thought to what you'd like to do after this unpleasantness comes to an end?"  
  
Miranda watched the girls look at each other with a knowing smirk and smiled when Andy replied.  
  
"What, you don't think I'm going to cut it as First Assistant?"  
  
"My dear, if you chose, you would be the platonic form of First Assistant, but I think your talents might be wasted in that role."  
  
"Well," Andy conceded, "your probably right, but if you're alright with it, I think I might be wanting to hang on a bit longer."  
  
"Making plans?" Miranda inquired.  
  
"Yes," Andy confirmed. "My partners and I are dreaming big."  
  
"Partners?" Miranda asked. Andy grinned and then Caroline burst out.  
  
"Aargh...I can't stand it. Mom, we're her partners." Despite her surprise, Miranda found herself relieved that Andy had not formed an alliance of any nature outside her home.  
  
Cassidy rolled her eyes at Caroline's impatience. "We've prepared a pitch and a business plan, Mom. We'll need some backers and we think this a chance for you to get in on the ground floor of something big." She paused and replied to Miranda's arched eyebrow with a sigh, "and absolutely legal.  
  
"Perhaps you could give me the elevator version now." Miranda suggested.  
  
"Internet micro-journalism. Andy will be the editor. I'll manage the servers and do the data analysis and web design. Caroline will do the photography. We'll start on the upper east side and branch out. We'll use high school and college kids as reporters."  
  
"Will you pay them?" Miranda asked?  
  
"Absolutely." Cassidy replied firmly. "Minimum wage to start with a possibility for bonuses based on published pieces. The kids who want to work on the revenue side can get bonuses based on the ads they sell."  
  
"And your plan includes overhead, office rental, server costs and other such expenses?"  
  
"Mom, please." Caroline objected. "Even I know that our overhead will be mostly our laptops to begin with."  
  
"Perhaps you're right Caroline," Miranda replied. "But the whole point of a business plan is to be able to expand and grow as you succeed. Your reporters are going to want desks eventually, so they can sit and think before they write. And Andréa will want peace and quiet while she edits. And perhaps someday coffee and and an assistant."  
  
She looked at Andy so affectionately that Caroline only barely stopped herself from sighing in contentment.  
  
"Actually, Miranda," Andy said hesitantly. "I've been thinking about that." Miranda looked at her expectantly. "I want to keep working for you for awhile so I can swing rent on some office space. I'll absolutely do my job, but I could save up so I have the rent banked when we start."  
  
"Andréa, you may work for me as long as you wish. But office rentals in Manhattan are notoriously high."  
  
"Yes, I know." Andy agreed glumly. "The budget will only work if you let me stay in your guest room too. I'll earn my board, I promise."  
  
"Don't be stupid, Andy. You already earn your board." said Caroline shortly. Andy looked confused. Cassidy shook her head and sighed.  
  
"Andy, you make Mom really happy. You make us really happy. We're all really happy now. It's worth like way more than the rent on a room with board." Andy and Miranda both blushed profusely.  
  
"I know," Caroline said suddenly. "Mom, could you get us some space at Elias-Clarke?"  
  
"Yeah," Cassidy chimed in. "Auto Universe must be on its last legs by now."  
  
"Oh girls, I'd love to," Miranda said a little sadly, "but Irv would go ballistic if I started giving away square footage in Midtown." Miranda replied.  
  
"Well," said Caroline in a resigned tone. "We'll just have to start here. Maybe we could put an office in the basement or something."  
  
"Would you like that, Andréa?" Miranda asked. Andy gulped. Of course she would like it. But she wasn't sure she wouldn't feel trapped. That she would never have the chance to say yes or no to Miranda as a peer. First, Miranda saved her life, then she gave her a job and a place to live. Then a family and a start-up company. She wanted all those things but it felt odd to have a family before she had a date. But the only way they could swing the business plan was if she stayed in the townhouse and stayed working for Miranda. Miranda was watching her closely and Andy was sure that Miranda could hear her thoughts. After a moment Miranda grinned.  
  
"I think I have, not a better idea, but perhaps a more capacious one. Cassidy, you'll need to revise that business plan of yours."  
  
"How do you know it's Cassidy's." Caroline demanded. "Andy and I helped."  
  
Andy laughed and shook her head. "Don't even bother Caroline. I mean we contributed but it's Cassidy's plan. We, however, are going to execute it." She looked at Miranda. "What are you proposing."  
  
"Well, I don't know if you know it yet girls, but Marta and Gerhard are moving back to Berlin. She's been promoted to some important finance job at the bank's headquarters." The girls nodded. The Adlers lived next door and their son Rudi, a few years younger than the girls had mentioned the move with equal parts excitement and fear more than a few times. "I bought their place."  
  
"What," Andy asked in confusion.  
  
"Oh, it's an excellent investment." Miranda said airily. I've talked with the lawyers, the architects and the builders and I have an idea that should make everyone happy."  
  
She paused dramatically and Caroline practically jumped out of her seat. "Mom, you're killing me," she protested.  
  
"Don't be a drama queen, Caroline." Miranda said a bit sternly.  
  
"Actually, Miranda," Andy objected, "you're kind of killing me too."  
  
Miranda smiled the happy smile that made Caroline melt. "Alright," she said conspiratorially. "Here's what I have in mind. We'll put the home in Andy's name and she can have an apartment on one floor and use the rest for business." Andy opened her mouth to object but Miranda waived her hand in mild annoyance. "It's no use, Mac's corporate people tell me that to make use of the home business provisions in the state and city codes you actually have to reside in the place the business is."  
  
Caroline and Cassidy opened their mouths to object and Miranda silenced their objections with a look. "However," she continued, "nothing in the codes prevent us from opening up the walls on the upper floors so you three can move back and forth as needed." The girls looked very happy but Andy looked confused.  
  
"Miranda," how could you consult with lawyers about our business plan before you knew that we even had one." she asked.  
  
"Oh please, Andréa. You obviously were going to plan something. The Mirror fired you in a stunning act of disloyalty that has not escaped my notice."  
  
"Well, I was in jail," Andy noted.  
  
"My point exactly," Miranda replied. "In any event, I knew that you would have difficult at other news outfits as long as you were the story and that you wanted a job where you could write and edit. Start up costs would be prohibitive in any thing but an internet business. A web based newspaper was clearly the only solution."  
  
"Wow," said Andy. "You're good. But the house next door - what, why... her voice trailed off."  
  
Cassidy shook her head in annoyance. "Andy, buy a clue. Mom's nuts about you. You're the only person she's ever been into that we like. Also she trusts you to keep off the FBI's most wanted list. She wasn't going to let you get away. Again." She looked at her mother somewhat askance. Both Miranda and Andy blushed furiously.  
  
"Andréa," Miranda said, suddenly quite serious. "I intend to court you. I intend to earn your love. Your gratitude is a precious thing and I value it. But I don't confuse it with passion or affection. I want those as well."  
  
"Oh dear God," said Caroline, "could we go do homework or something."  
  
"Nope," said Miranda. "You two are my secret weapons. Do you think I'd go courting Andréa Sachs without you as my trusted allies?"  
  
"She has a point, Caroline," Cassidy said, "we are kind of a package deal."  
  
"Well I'm not going on any dates with them," Caroline said defiantly.  
  
"I think I can agree to that restriction, Bobbsey. How about you Andréa." Miranda asked sweetly.  
  
"You three, you don't fight fair at all, do you?" Andy asked rhetorically.  
  
"Nope," the Priestly women said in unison.  
  
"Ok. Andy laughed, and she smiled that brilliant smile that softened Miranda's heart till she felt things like hope and contentment and on rare occasions joy. "We'll try this. But Cassidy, we need to rework the business plan. And I'm serious about this. I have to be pulling my own weight financially. Not immediately obviously but it's got to be a real plan with realistic and achievable goals." Cassidy nodded seriously.  
  
"Yes, dear," Miranda agreed, "I'd like to see a draft by next Sunday." Cassidy gulped.  
  
"Oh, and Andréa," keep your schedule clear for this coming weekend. We're having a council of war on Sunday. Douglas and Lillian will be joining us." All three of them gasped. "No," Miranda said to Caroline and Cassidy before they could ask, "you are not invited." Before their protests could reach their lips, she continued, "however, Detective Ambrosino has asked if he could camera and mike the den and use your media room upstairs to observe our meeting. He has agreed that you may join his team. I expect you to be on your best behavior and to avoid any mention of your nefarious activities on the computer."  
  
They both nodded and then Cassidy asked shyly, "can I watch them set everything up?"  
  
"Yes, but," Miranda began.  
  
"Don't worry, Mom," Caroline interrupted, "she'll be so busy taking notes on all their gear she won't have time to get into any trouble."  
  
"And what about you, Bobbsey," Miranda asked in a teasing voice. "How are you going to stay out of trouble?"  
  
"Oh, I'll be ok," Caroline assured her. "I'll be with Andy, keeping her from going into a total meltdown."

Andy smiled weakly. "Thanks," she said. Then she turned to Miranda. "Your right. They can't go on any dates with us."


	18. Chapter 18

Sunday was normally a quiet day in the Priestly household. This Sunday, however, was anything but. Cara was busy in the kitchen preparing the fixings for a high tea. Cassidy was following the technicians from the police department around the living room and peppering them with questions about the relative benefits of wifi and bluetooth transmission. Andy and Caroline sat at the dining room table with a stack of yellow pads, a map of Manhattan and a laptop, trying to determine which neighborhoods the web site would cover and what local boards and councils had jurisdiction over them.

"Zoning board appeal meetings?" Caroline asked Andy in all seriousness. "Really. How will any kid stay awake to cover them?"

"Prep." Andy answered. "We have to know before hand what's at stake and make sure our reporters know what to look and listen for."

"Fine," said Caroline, "but I still think the local police stations are going to be the ones everyone signs up for."

"Think about a way that we can portion out the good assignments so that kids are willing do the less attractive ones, then." Andy replied. "Put it on your todo list and we can talk about it next Sunday."  
Caroline nodded and studiously added the item to a list on one of the yellow pads.

"May I interrupt for a moment?" Miranda asked from the doorway.  
Andy looked up at the sound of her voice, smile spreading easily across her face.

"Of course, Miranda," she said.

"Hi Mom, what's up," asked Caroline.

"I'm going to take Patricia for a walk in the park while the computer people are sorting things out. Care to join me," she asked.  
Andy's brow furrowed. She was torn between attending to Miranda's clearly distracted mood and her planning session with Caroline. The younger Priestly solved her dilemma for her.

"Sorry, Mom. We've got to finish this before everyone gets here," she said easily. Andy smiled sheepishly.

Miranda's eyes sparkled. "This is how it always is with new business start ups," she said in mock complaint. "Family, friends, dog - all abandoned."

Caroline rubbed her index finger around her the side of her thumb and said, "This is the world's smallest record player, playing, 'My Heart Bleeds for You,' Mom." Andy pulled her head back a little startled at the girl's cheekiness.

But Miranda merely smiled and said, "I blame you, Andréa." At this Caroline barked in laughter. "Fine," Miranda continued, "I'm going. I expect this table cleared and you properly dressed when I return, Caroline."

"What about me?" Andy asked impishly.

"I'd take Caroline's advice," she said as she clipped the flexi on to Patricia's collar and left the house.

It was a beautiful day, a bit warmer than usually for early spring. Miranda took the route she used when she wanted time to think about something in particular, or to think about nothing at all. She kept an eye on Patricia as the followed the path up Pilgrim Hill, fearing the day when the climb would be too much for her. But the path didn't seem to challenge her so Miranda followed it, letting her mind travel over the conversations she had in the last few days and the documents on the server she had read in the past few weeks. It was too late for snow and too early for cherry blossoms, but Miranda enjoyed the walk past the statues and around conservatory water on days like this, when the sky was blue and the breeze had a hint of coming warmth in it.  
  
  
#

The girls, dressed in their best fashion casual could not seem to keep their eyes off the platters of cakes, tea sandwiches, cookies and coffee that filled the shelves of the tea cart in the den. But, on their best behavior, hoping thereby to earn time off on the infinite grounding Miranda had meted out, they chatted patiently and politely with the members of Miranda's war council.  
  
  
Nigel was talking to Andy when Miranda entered the room. He, and everyone stopped for a moment just to look at her. Then he turned back to Andy, saying, "Pop quiz, Six. What's our hostess sporting?"  
  
  
"You are cold, Nig." Andy laughed in protest.  
  
  
"Come, come. The teacher always fears how little the student will retain."  
  
  
"Ok," Andy said, grinning at him. "Let me start with the easy part - the shoes. Louboutin, Angelina flats."  
  
  
"She shoots, she scores." Nigel said dryly. "And the cardigan," he asked, sternly.  
  
  
"Um, I'm gonna guess Burberry." Andy answered.  
  
  
"Buy a lottery ticket, Six, you're on a roll."  
  
  
Before he could torture her with a question about the slacks, however, Miranda coughed slightly and captured the attention of the room.  
  
  
"I'd like to thank you all for coming. Douglas and Lillian will be here shortly. When they do, the girls will escort them here and then disappear - isn't that right Bobbseys?"  
  
  
"Of course, Mother," Cassidy said with false brightness.  
  
  
"But we will be allowed to take some dessert upstairs, first, won't we, Mom?" Caroline asked, a bit nervously.  
  
  
"Of course, darling. Why don't you each fill a plate and take it to your rooms. You can go downstairs then a wait for our guests."  
  
  
The girls, of course, Andy noted wryly, were already at the sweets table, picking out their favorites. "What's this, Mom?" Caroline asked, pointing to a plate of Turkish Delight?"  
  
  
"Don't touch that, Caroline." Miranda said, her voice suddenly sharp and stern. "In fact, everyone, I would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from sampling the Turkish Delight." It was a very odd request, but Miranda ignored the puzzled looks and declined the opportunity to explain herself.  
  
  
Cassidy just shrugged and began to fill her plate with cucumber sandwiches and petite fours. Caroline quickly followed suit. After the girls had left the room, the guests gravitated towards the tea cart and began to quietly select their own items. Emily's plate, of course, had nothing but celery and carrot sticks and a single cheese cube. She sat with a smile next to Solly, whose own plate bore enough carbs for the both of them.  
As Miranda had directed her earlier - and Andy wondered how many of the members of the war council had received individually tailored instructions - Andy sat in the bay window, out of the sight lines from the door. The conversation in the room was stilted until the doorbell rang, when it stopped completely.  
  
  
#  
  
  
"Thank you so much for accepting my invitation, Mr. Templeton, Ms. Goodwin." Miranda said after the twins had exported the last guests into the living room.  
  
  
"Doug, please," said Doug extending a hand.  
  
  
"And I'm Lily," Lily said quickly.  
  
  
"Then, of course you must call me, Miranda, Douglas and Lillian." Miranda replied. "Everyone does. Please take a seat. Could everyone introduce themselves while I rustle up a bite for Douglas and Lillian?" The introductions began interrupted by Miranda's questions on how each took their tea.  
  
  
By the time introductions came to Andy, Miranda had set a cup of tea and a plate of assorted sandwiches and sweets next to Lily. "We've met," said Andy, smiling grimly. Miranda jumped in quickly before an awkward moment could develop.  
  
  
"Douglas," she said, "Andréa tells me that you enjoy both Turkish coffee and Turkish delight."  
  
  
"I do," Doug said easily. "I spent my junior year in college in Istanbul and fell in love with both."  
  
  
"I took the liberty of having Senem Assam come over to prepare both for you." Miranda said.  
  
  
"Of the Casbah coffee house?" Doug asked incredulously.  
  
  
"Yes," said Miranda. "Do you know the place."  
  
  
"I've only been a few times - reservations are hard to get - but her food is extraordinary."  
  
  
"Yes," Miranda agreed. "It is. Runway did a marvelous photo shoot there a few years ago. When was that Emily," Miranda asked as she place the coffee and sweets on the table next to Doug.  
  
  
"It was the February issue." Emily replied. "Two years ago. We featured the designs of Ali Akthar in the shoot and Ms. Assam was delighted to give us the run of her restaurant for the shoot.  
  
  
"Yes," Miranda agreed. "Well, Douglas, that's how Senem and I became acquainted and now I'll only have her prepare Turkish food for me."  
  
  
"This looks wonderful," Doug said lifting the cup to his lips and eyeing the dessert appreciatively."  
  
  
"It is. In fact, I'll join you. It's rare that I have a guest who appreciates Turkish cuisine." She sat down with her own cup of the coffee and a plate with several pieces of the Turkish delight. She paused to eat a small piece of the dessert and daintily wipe the powdered sugar from her lips before she continued.  
  
  
"I understand how awkward it must be for the three of you to meet and I do appreciate that you're making the effort." Miranda said.  
  
  
"Yes, well, I called Ms. Vance and she said she had no objection of us talking to you." Lily said in a somewhat cautious tone. "Would anyone object if I made a recording of our meeting," she asked, looking around the room.  
  
  
"Not at all," said Miranda. The others nodded.  
  
  
"I just don't want their to be any contradiction between what people say I say today and any further testimony that I'll have to give." Lily explained with a hint of apology in her voice. She set her phone on the table beside her chair and started an app that served as a digital recorder.  
  
  
In the girls' media room, the technicians quickly pulled their headphones off to spare their ears the feedback squeal and began to fiddle with their controls to ensure that they could safely listen.  
  
  
"I blame cop shows." Ambrosino said testily. Cassidy made a quick note of questions she would ask as soon as this was all over.  
  
  
"I think that's an admirable idea, Lillian," Miranda said. "Although, I sincerely hope there will be no need of further testimony in Andréa's case.  
  
  
"Why is that," Doug asked cautiously.  
  
  
"Well, I've been very busy, Douglas. And not just me. Andréa has been most fortunate in discovering a wide range of people who've stepped in to help investigate the case."  
  
  
"I thought the police had investigated the case." Lily asked in some confusion.  
  
  
"Well, yes they did, Lillian," Miranda explained. "It's just that I felt that fresh set of eyes might uncover information that the police might not have had the resources to find. Did you know, for example that Nathanial stopped in at a bar near Andréa's called "The Blue Goose" and spoke with a bartender named Juan Cortilla?"  
  
  
"The Goose?" Doug and Lily asked in unison.  
  
  
"God, we haven't been there in years," said Doug.  
  
  
"What was Nate doing at the Goose?" asked Lily.  
  
  
"It appears," Miranda answered, "that he wanted to take something for a very serious case of indigestion before he went to Andréa's."  
  
  
"Really?" asked Lily.  
  
  
"Yes. Really." Miranda replied firmly. "Now I am not a lawyer, but it seems to me that a defense attorney would find evidence that Nathanial was suffering from gastritis before Andréa was supposed to have poisoned him -" She stopped and sniffed at the absurdity of the charge - "very exculpatory."  
  
  
"I think, Miranda" said Mac graciously, "that fashion's gain has been the Bar's loss, Miranda. You are right, this new evidence is exculpatory." At Lily's puzzled look he explained, "It tends to prove Andy's innocence, or at least, disprove her guilt, Lily." Lily's mouth formed a small "o" of surprise.  
  
  
"That's great, Andy." Doug said quickly. He turned back to Miranda, "did you find out anything else?" he asked Miranda.  
  
  
"Why yes," said Miranda, each of us has. "Jason, for example, has discovered some fascinating facts about your restaurant, for example. Why don't you explain, Jason."  
  
  
"Of course, Miranda," he said, doing his best to control his nerves, but not entirely succeeding. "We discovered, for example, that the business - before Nate died - did not simply carry general liability coverage. You all also had a key man policy on Nate."  
  
  
"What's a key man policy?" Lily asked. Mac explained again. "In any business that is dependent on the technical expertise of one partner or executive, the other investors often insist that the business take out a life insurance policy on that person. That way, if anything happens to the one person on whom the business' success depends, the investors can at least be compensated by the policy."  
  
  
Lily turned to Doug. "We had one of those?"  
  
  
Doug, half closing his eyes as if to summon strength, nodded.  
  
  
"It was for a not trivial sum, Lillian." Miranda said. "How much was it again, Jason?" she asked turning to the young lawyer."  
  
  
"4.5 million." He said quietly.  
  
  
"4.5 million?" Lily practically shrieked the number.  
  
  
"Yes," Miranda confirmed. "4.5 million. This, again, is what a lawyer would consider exculpatory evidence."  
  
  
Lily looked puzzled. "Why?" she asked.  
  
  
Jason replied. "It suggest that the other partners had a motive to kill Nathanial."  
  
  
"A $1.5 million dollar motive," Miranda dryly observed.  
  
  
"1.5 million?" Lily asked in confusion.  
  
  
Doug sighed. "You, Andy and I would receive 1.5 million each under the terms of the partnership."  
  
  
"But I didn't," Lily protested. "I think I'd remember a check for $1.5 million."  
  
  
"Lily," he said patiently," we each agreed to put that money back into the business. You, Andy and Nate's mom each signed a new partnership agreement that invested your share of the insurance payout back in the restaurant."  
  
  
"Oh." said Lily. Miranda realized that Lily didn't really understand the legal mechanics of the transaction, but she may have remembered talking to Doug.  
  
  
"Who do we have insurance on now?" she asked.  
  
  
"No one," Jason answered.  
  
  
"Why not, she asked, surprised at his answer.  
  
  
Doug sighed again. Jason answered for him.  
  
  
"With Nate gone, you don't have a key man, anymore."  
  
  
"Indeed, Lillian, your business is so successful that the restaurant is flourishing even without Nathaniel's participation," Miranda noted.  
  
  
"Dougie said we were doing well." Lily admitted.  
  
  
"Oh, I think you know exactly how well the business is doing Lillian," Miranda said sharply.  
  
  
"What's that supposed to mean." Lily replied hotly, looking to her phone without even realizing it.  
  
  
"We've done a visual audit of the restaurant Lily," Sister Emily explained.  
  
  
"Yes," Jason continued. "Based on the work of Sister Emily's observation teams our forensic auditors say that you clearing between 15 and $20,000 a month in profit."  
  
  
"But you know that already, don't you Lillian," Miranda asked rhetorically.  
  
  
"Well first of all, Miranda," Doug interrupted in a deliberate drawl, "so what? We declare our income and pay our taxes. But second - what does any of this have to do with Andy's case?"  
"  
  
"I find it interesting that you're each drawing almost all of the profits out of the business." Miranda said, as if she hadn't even listened to Doug. "Lillian, for example," has forgone her commission on every sale she's made at her gallery since Nathaniel died. It's been a very effective way to attract artists to your space who are of a caliber that normally wouldn't give the time of day to someone as new in the field as you are."  
  
  
Lily looked up as if to protest, but Miranda cut her off. "No, no, I don't mean that as an insult, Lillian. You are very talented, but very young. Normally, an artist with the reputation of Keisha Washington would never show her work with you. But artists, like everyone, like to eat. Of course, you've been attracting excellent talent - they take home almost the entire sale price when they show with you. It's a brilliant strategy, and has allowed you to leap frog over the competition for the last several months."  
  
  
Emily and Andy stared at Miranda in shock - a clear and unambiguous compliment. Miranda could make them. Lily looked mollified. "But," Miranda continued, "you could only pursue such a strategy if you had an additional, regular income to cover your ordinary expenses. No commission, no take home pay. It's a good thing the restaurant is doing so well."  
  
  
"Are you suggesting that Lily murdered Nate so she could afford to forgo her commissions?" Doug asked in disbelief. Lily flushed in anger. Miranda held up her hand.  
  
  
"Not at all, Douglas, not at all," she answered. Obviously Lillian clearly benefited from Nathanial's death, but I am not one for post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacies."  
  
  
"She means," Doug began.  
  
  
"I know what she means," Lily hissed. "Just because I benefited financially doesn't mean I did it." Doug shrugged in embarrassment.  
  
  
"I do think," miranda said, "however, that the lawyers and accountants might have interesting questions to raise if you and Douglas made no provisions to set aside money for Andréa's share when you were taking cash out of the business."  
  
  
"Doug said we didn't have to." Lily protested loudly.  
  
  
"It's true," Doug said in a bored tone of voice. "The lawyers I consulted said that we'd be wiser to leave Andy's share in the ongoing operations rather than take any out and set it aside for her. That way she wouldn't run afoul of any laws that prohibit the guilty from profiting from murders."  
  
  
"But, Douglas," Miranda observed, "Andréa wasn't guilty of anything when you began withdrawing funds from the business. "Presumed innocent" is the term, is it not?"  
  
  
"Look," said Doug shortly, "what you're talking about is an accounting dispute. We'll be happy to settle up with Andy when this is over. You're hardly accusing Lily of murder, are you?" he asked.  
  
  
"Oh no, Douglas," answered Miranda in a silky tone. "Lillian has been foolish, and perhaps less loyal than one would expect a friend to be. But I'm not accusing Lillian of murder. I'm accusing you. Care to join me in another Turkish Delight?" she asked as she stood and crossed the room to the tea cart.


	19. Chapter 19

Pandemonium. "What?" Lily screeched.  
  
"My god, Miranda, that's a serious charge." Jimmy observed.  
  
Cassidy watched the monitor in the media room in disgust. "Such a drama queen," she muttered.  
  
Only Miranda and Doug remained calm. "Oh, I'm the murderer?" he asked politely. "And how do you figure that?" The chatter in the room stopped abruptly as the others realized the two were conversing.  
Miranda began to lay out her case. Slowly, methodically, carefully. The minutes ticked by. The quiet drone of her voice was interrupted only when she paused to sip her tea or take a bite of Turkish Delight. She talked on and on. She stopped once to bring Doug another cup of Turkish coffee and another Turkish delight.  
  
The others had discussed a particular aspect of the case with Miranda but never heard the complete narrative. So despite what seemed like a deliberate effort on Miranda's part to put the room to sleep, they hung on her ever word. Her daughters were less impressed.  
  
"Maybe you have to be in the room." Caroline suggested.  
  
"Maybe the ghost of some CPA past has taken over her soul?" Cassidy countered.  
  
"Is this what they mean when they say buzzkill?" Caroline asked rhetorically.  
  
"No." Cassidy replied. "They're talking about sex when they say buzzkill." Caroline blushed a charming pink and one of the police officers could not stop himself from laughing until Cassidy turned a glare on him that could have frozen a swimming pool. He pulled himself together pretty quickly after that and turned to work busily on his lap top.  
  
Lily and Doug had not had the opportunity to hear any of Miranda's account of Nate's murder. Lily found herself reduced to occasional gasps and furious frowns as she tried to think of logical objections to the conclusions Miranda offered.  
  
Doug simply waited Miranda's monologue out, smiling, sipping Turkish coffee and taking the occasional bite of Turkish delight. Finally, more than an hour had passed and Miranda brought her narrative to a close.  
  
Doug grinned as if to say, "game on." "That's quite a tale, Miranda. Perhaps you should give up your day job and take to writing thrillers?"  
  
"Douglas," Miranda replied in honeyed tones, "you are too kind. I love my day job, have no talent for fiction and Andréa is the news reporter here."  
  
"Well," Doug drawled, "there are a few holes in your logic, if I might point them out."  
  
"Enlighten me," Miranda replied graciously.  
  
"You say I poisoned Nate," he answered. "But how could I have poisoned him without poisoning myself?"  
  
Cassidy thought this was a fair objection and since Miranda had not seen feet to rehearse her arguments with her daughters, she was quite eager to hear her mother's reply. "That, Douglas," Miranda said, "was a work of admirable ingenuity. Perhaps too admirable and too ingenius, however."  
  
"Enlighten me." Doug said with a smirk. Nigel shuddered. No one who had ever taken such a tone with Miranda and survived to tell the story.  
  
"Well, Douglas," Miranda began. "The whole dinner was a little too perfect, wasn't it? And the timing of Nathaniel's prior episodes to correspond with his visits with Andréa. One of the jurors who voted for acquittal objected to the relentless perfection of these facts as simply unreal."  
  
"Well," Doug said, "I suppose you can have your aesthetic or philosophical objections to the prosecution's case, but I hardly think they'll sway a jury. How on earth could I have poisoned Nate, in the first place?" He preened a little. Andy shuddered when she saw this. Miranda had been playing out line to Doug patiently, but now, perhaps not even realizing it, he had played the arrogant young business guy card and she was going to slay him.  
  
"The omelette." said Miranda coldly. Doug paused for a moment but then smiled.  
  
"Do tell," he purred.  
  
"Sister Emily's friends finally tracked down the egg farmer who sold you the eggs in the Union Square Market." Miranda said. Doug's smile faltered. "She remembers you. She remembers you carefully picking through several cartons of eggs before you selected one. She remembers that she was, given all your effort, surprised to discover that one egg in the carton was cracked. She offered to give you another carton, but you said it was no problem at all. It almost seemed like you were looking for a carton with a cracked egg in it. You have the farmer's affidavit, don't you, Mac?" Miranda said turning to the lawyer.  
  
Mac smiled a litigator's thin, cold smile and said, "Actually, Miranda, Justin took Ms. Houchin's statement." He nodded at the younger attorney, who opened the large rectangular case lawyers use for trial documents and flipped through a surprisingly large number of manilla folders before he found the one he wanted and removed it from the case.  
  
"I've taken the liberty of making a copy of the notarized affidavit for you, Mr. Templeton," he said, removing a copy of the document from the folder and handing it to him. "Should you wish to retain an attorney, I'll be happy to provide counsel with a copy as well."  
  
"Oh," Doug drawled with a confidence that made Lily, who suddenly realized that every folder in the case contained copies of damning documents that Jason would hand to Doug, want to scream, "I think I'm not ready to start paying legal fees quite yet." He turned to his hostess. "Buying a cracked egg is hardly an indictable offense, Miranda." He smiled. "And the coroner attributed Nate's death to arsenic, not bad eggs."  
  
"True," Miranda admitted judiciously, "but you know, it is possible to induce powdered arsenic into an egg. Jimmy had one of his graduate students work out how to do it. Apparently pipettes are required. But pipettes are remarkably easy to come by, aren't they Jimmy."  
  
Miranda's favorite ex-husband smiled and said. "Surprisingly so, given the uses to which they may be put, Miranda. Surprisingly so."  
  
"Christ," said Cassidy, watching her father on the monitor, "he's laying the old professor schtick on a bit thick. Why doesn't he wear shoulder patches on his jacket and be done with it."  
  
"Language, Cass." Caroline said automatically. "And shush, I want to hear this."  
  
"But, Miranda," Doug objected, exaggerating his puzzlement. "If I had put arsenic in the egg, surely I would have suffered the same fate as Nate, and yet here I am."  
  
"Did you know, Douglas," Miranda asked with feigned sincerity, "that one can acquire a tolerance for arsenic?" Lily gasped.  
  
"No, Miranda, I can't say that I did." Doug replied easily.  
  
"No Douglas," that won't do. You'll need to consult with counsel on that point, should you ever get around to hiring one. I myself didn't know it at first. I was puzzled by the egg and omelette. But the dinner you staged drew such attention to them. Everything else shared by that poor waiter. Every bottle drunk from saved. It was as though you couldn't keep from throwing the largest spotlight possible on the dessert course."  
  
Miranda paused and rose and walked to the liquor cabinet at the back of the room. "Would anyone like a sherry? I have port and Madeira if anyone would like it, even though it's so early. Andréa, would you be a dear and help me serve?" Andy nodded and rose to help. Emily, unbidden joined them and drinks were quickly sorted and served. Only Miranda and Doug declined, Doug sticking to his Turkish coffee and Miranda switching to San Pellegrino.  
  
"Now where was I," Miranda queried when she had sat again. "Oh yes, the mysterious omelette. How could Douglas have shared a poisoned omelette with no ill effect? I confess, Douglas, I was quite puzzled by that."  
  
"I can imagine," Doug said in mock gravity.  
  
"Fortunately, I have in my collection of ex-husbands a rather brilliant organic chemist. Even more fortunately, we're on excellent terms. So I asked Jimmy whether one could develop an immunity to arsenic."  
  
Jimmy coughed and interrupted her. "Actually, Miranda it really isn't an immunity. The biological process is quite different."  
  
"Yes, darling," Miranda interrupted him back with a smile. "You explained this all to Mac, didn't you, dear?" The question was obviously rhetorical. Lily sighed as Jason reached into his litigation case.  
  
"Well yes." Jimmy stuttered. "I mean, I gave him an affidavit describing how one could train the body to manage arsenic by taking small but increasing doses over time."  
Andy couldn't help but admire the coolness with which Doug reacted to the news. But that admiration shocked her. How could he?  
  
"Fascinating, Miranda." Doug said. "Simply fascinating. But wouldn't there have to be some evidence that I had, in fact, taken arsenic over a period of time?"  
  
"But, Douglas," she began. Her smile was almost feral. "There is quite a lot of evidence." Now, Andy noticed, Doug's smile seemed a bit forced. "Your hair. Your finger nails." Doug looked puzzled. Miranda explained with a patience that none of her assistants had ever seen. "Sr. Emily was able to place a couple of her clients in your hair salon. They kept clippings from your hair cuts and manicures of the last several weeks." Both Lily and Andy seemed almost shocked at the notion that Doug would get manicures. "You may have noticed that your regular stylist has been out sick for your last two appointments, and I doubt you've ever noticed whose done your hands." Jason reached into his litigation case for another folder. Lily shut her eyes and shook her head.  
  
Miranda continued. "Jimmy tested the clippings and cuttings. Based on the different levels of arsenic in them he's been able to construct a timeline estimating when you began this little project.  
Finally, Doug looked angry, but seemed to consciously restrain his temper. "Miranda," he said, "even assuming I accept Jimmy's findings, there may be a dozen possible explanations for why I had trace levels of a common substance in my hair and nails. I'm sure you've read Andy's article on the topic," he concluded with a sneer.  
  
"Oh, Miranda agreed, "I have, Douglas. I certainly have. I note, as a preliminary matter that you have declined my offer of a drink this afternoon, much as you did the night you poisoned Nathaniel. Jimmy tells me that it's a very bad idea to combine alcohol and arsenic." Andrea gasped as she suddenly realized that Miranda had also declined to join the others in a drink.  
  
Miranda ignored her, but Andy saw the others come to the same realization as she continued. "But one fact alone gives me absolutely confidence that you took arsenic prophylactically over the course of last summer and as a result acquired what Jimmy won't call an immunity, burdened as he is with actual knowledge of the subject.  
  
The room grew quiet. The sun had fallen lower in the sky as tea time turned to early evening. Shadows lengthened in the room and Andy felt like she was sitting in a tableau vivant in the style of a Holbein portrait. Miranda seemed determined not to continue. Doug seemed determined not to ask. In the end, it was Lily who cracked.  
  
"What fact is that, Miranda?" she asked, breaking the brittle silence.  
  
"The fact that Douglas has been consuming arsenic all afternoon with no obvious ill effect." Miranda replied.  
  
Pandemonium. Gasps, cries of "no." Andy looked from Doug to Miranda and back again. She suddenly remembered Miranda's odd request about the Turkish Delight.  
  
"My god, Miranda!" she exclaimed. The others fell quiet. "You ate it too!" It's in the Turkish stuff.  
  
"Stuff, Andréa? Really?" Miranda's eyebrow raised as if the only subject worthy of her attention at the moment was Andréa's diction. "But, yes, you are correct. I laced the powered sugar Senem used to prepare the Turkish Delight with arsenic. It is, as you pointed out so exhaustively in the last article you wrote before Douglas' homicidal tendencies ended your career and Nathaniel's life, remarkably easy to obtain."  
  
Doug laughed loudly. "I call bluff, Miranda. If either of had eaten arsenic, we'd both be violently ill by now. Unless you've been building up your tolerance for arsenic." He sneered as though that were the most unimaginable thing in the world.  
  
"Actually, Douglas," Miranda replied. "I have. Jimmy has been my consultant on these matters. It is astonishingly easy to do."  
  
"Miranda," Andy was practically shouting. "Are you crazy? Nothing's worth that kind of risk." Miranda turned to her and smiled.  
  
"You are, Andréa. To me." she said.  
  
Doug and Lily seemed shocked to recognize Miranda's affection for Andy. The others in the room had long suspected it. Emily gave a sigh of resignation. Suddenly the room was in turmoil again. Doug leapt to his feet and bolted from the room, crying out, "oh god, I'm so sick." But it was a feeble gesture. Jason and Solly ran after him. Lily turned to see Andy kneeling before Miranda's chair, grasping Miranda's hands in her own, sobbing, "you didn't, tell me you didn't," over and over.  
  
Miranda freed a hand to stroke Andy's hair. "Hush, darling. Shh. It's ok. Everything will be fine." Nothing seemed to break Andy's tears until Jimmy rose, walked over to her and shook her by the shoulders.  
  
"Andy, Andy," he said sternly. "Get a hold of yourself. Do you honestly think I'd allow the mother of my children to ingest a lethal poison?" Startled, Andy lifted her head from Miranda' lap and stared at him bewildered.  
  
"Thanks for ruining the moment, Jimmy." Miranda said with a sigh. Then she cupped Andy's chin in her hand and turned her face back to her. "It was a bluff, Andréa. But a convincing one."  
  
"You're ok?" she asked queruously.  
  
"I'm ok. In fact, I'm feeling rather frisky," she laughed.  
  
"God, you could have warned me." Andy said, unable to keep the petulance from her voice.  
  
"No, I couldn't, darling. For Douglas to believe it, everyone had to believe it. Jimmy was the only one in on my little secret." Andy looked like she wanted to say more, but they were interrupted by the return of Solly and Jason, accompanied by Detective Ambrosino and Doug, in handcuffs.  
  
"Was he very ill, Detective?" Miranda asked in a voice meant to taunt.  
  
"Bitch." Doug snarled.  
  
"Why Douglas," she said dryly. "How original. No one's ever called me that before." Emily snorted before she gained control of herself.  
  
"He made a run for it, ma'am." Ambrosino said politely. "But the boys were waiting for him."  
  
"It's wonderful to see one's tax dollars deployed so effectively, isn't it." Miranda observed to the room. "What a horrible man you are, Mr. Templeton," Miranda said. "You kill one friend and frame another. The mistrial must have tested your nerves severely."  
  
"I did what I needed to do." Douglas snarled. "You'd have done the same."  
  
But it was Andy who answered him. "Don't you dare, Doug," she began. Caroline and Cassidy looked at each other.  
  
"That was a snarl," said Cassidy.  
  
"No argument, here," said Caroline, surprised that Andy had it in her.  
  
"Actually, Mr. Templeton," Miranda interrupted in an icy voice, "I imagine in the proper circumstances that I might betray someone quite easily, but I think even I would draw the line at murdering a friend." Nigel snorted. Miranda suddenly seemed bored with the whole affair. "That is all," Miranda said and waived her hand.  
  
Ambrosino nodded. "Thank's ma'am, we'll be in touch." Miranda smiled and the detective and the murderer left the room.


	20. Chapter 20

Silence. Andy sat, staring fixedly at the floor. The others watched Miranda rise and cross the room to the liquor cabinet. She poured two glasses of Johnny Walker Blue and walked to Andy.  
  
"Drink this," she said, handing Andy one of the glasses. She stood in front of her and watched Andy drink it off in a single gulp. Miranda handed her the second glass. "Sip this one," she directed in a firm, but gentle tone.  
  
After she had returned to her own chair, Lily finally broke the silence. "But why? Why would he do this?"  
  
"Money," said Miranda. "The why, as Andréa observed after the mistrial, is usually rather straight forward in homicides. Among the four of you, it clearly wouldn't be love or revenge."  
  
"How could you assume that?" Lily demanded.  
  
"Because I knew Andréa would never murder anyone, much less someone she had once been in love with. That left you and Douglas. The timing of the poisonings made it obvious it had to be one of the three of you and I trusted Andréa."  
  
"But Doug didn't have any money issues." Lily objected. "For Pete sakes, he worked at Goldman Sachs. He didn't live high off the hog and he made a damn good salary."  
  
"Yes, but he also made a rather serious error in judgment shortly after you four began the restaurant." Andy looked at her, puzzled.  
  
"He made some speculative trades. Unauthorized, but highly successful. Then at the suggestion of a gentleman he was seeing, he mad some unauthorized but highly unsuccessful trades. He hid the losses in one of Goldman's error accounts, but he need to quickly cover the loss or an audit would reveal that he hadn't simply made an error in executing a client order, but had deliberately made the trade."  
  
"How did you find this out?" Andy asked.  
  
"Uncle Lloyd," Cassidy answered. "Now it makes sense. Mom knew the who all along. She just couldn't figure out the how."  
  
"I called Lloyd," Miranda replied and explained the situation. He had the audit team move up the date of Douglas' annual audit."  
  
"Lloyd?" asked Andy?  
  
"He's an old family friend," Jimmy explained. He's running Goldman now."  
  
"Oh," said Andy. "Lloyd Blankfein."  
  
"Yes, well," said Miranda, almost annoyed at the interruption, "it was only a little over a million dollars, but Douglas was desperate. And desperate men do foolish and horrible things."  
  
Lily looked across the room to Andy. "I'm sorry, Andy. I know it's not enough. But I am very, very sorry."  
  
Tears began to run down Andy's cheeks at she looked at the woman who had been her oldest friend. "You're right Lily, she said. "It's not enough. And I don't think anything can be." She stood up and crossed the room to the door. She turned back and said, "thank you everyone. You saved my life. I'm sorry. I'm a little overwhelmed."  
  
"Go ahead, Andréa," Miranda directed. "We're just finishing up. When Andy had closed the doors behind her, Miranda looked up into the corner of the room. A small smile played on her lips. "Bobbseys?" she said. "I'm assuming that you are 'on it.' You may have recourse to chocolate, if necessary. But give her space if she asks for it."  
  
The girls, unseen, nodded seriously and soon could be heard thundering towards Andy's room.

  


#  
Some weeks later, Andy felt much less overwhelmed. If anything, she was impatient to be done with it. But Miranda had insisted. "Very few people are offered an opportunity for vindication in the court of public opinion, Andréa. I insist that you take it." Emily had been directed to arrange for the hearing to take place in the ceremonial courtroom, whose black walnut wainscoting satisfied Miranda's aesthetic sensibilities. Miranda herself had directed Leslie, her publicist, to ensure the maximum amount of media coverage.  
  
Solly greeted them in the Rotunda, Andy following in Miranda's wake as Miranda cut through the scrum of frantic press crews without any visible effort. Caroline and Cassidy found that the ease with which they obtained a live stream of the events quickly vitiated their dismay at being denied the opportunity to accompany Andy.  
  
"She looks good." Caroline said judiciously. "The Sonja Rykiel tweed dress was a good choice."  
  
Cassidy grinned at her. "Not too safe?" she asked in a teasing voice.  
  
"I think for murder trials you want err on the side of safety." Caroline replied.  
  
Andy took her place beside Solly at the defendant's table. Miranda, Emily, Nigel, Jason, Jimmy, Mac and Sister Emily sat in the bench of spectators' seats. All rose noisily at the solemn procession of clerks and justice and sat at Justice Hill's curt nod. "People v. Sachs," the clerk called out in the stentorian voice that had earned him the job many year  
s before.  
  
"Ms. Vance," Hill said, looking over the top of his reading glasses, "I believe this is your motion."  
LaToya Vance stood regally and announced, "The People move to dismiss the indictment against Ms. Sachs, your Honor. We have no evidence to offer against this defendant."  
  
Hill smiled sardonically. I see you Mr. Lermberger, and I do not doubt but that you wish to be heard on what must be a very welcome motion.  
  
Solly smiled as he stood. Emily smiled as she watched him. She had chosen the suit, shirt, shoes, socks and tie he wore today. Hugo Boss. He'd never wear high fashion but she'd be damned if any reporter referred to her Solly as "nebbishy" today.  
  
"Oh, God, Caroline. Look at Emily. She's got it so bad it hurts my eyes to look at her." Cassidy snarked.  
  
"That's called being happy, Cassidy." Caroline replied. Look at Mom, she's worse." Cassidy pretended to gasp, clutched her heart and fell back on to the media room's sofa.  
  
"Oh lord, we're going to become boring, Caroline. Happy people are never interesting," she insisted dramatically. Caroline rolled her eyes and shushed her as Solly began to speak.  
  
"Indeed, your Honor. Very welcome, indeed. I think, however, I'd be remiss in not requesting the People to offer a very clear statement of my client's innocence. She has endured no small amount of suffering in this matter and I think is entitled to have her good name restored to her as forcefully as she was deprived of it."  
  
"Ms. Vance," said the justice, "I tend to agree with Mr. Lermberger about this.  
  
"Thank you, your Honor," said the prosecutor. "The People would like to take this opportunity to state for the record that Ms. Sachs is completely innocent in this matter. She was as much a victim of Mr. Templeton's nefarious intent in this affair as Mr. Cooper."  
  
"Well," thought Miranda wryly, "Andréa is still breathing. Not perhaps as much a victim. Though, I suppose, now is not the time for pedantry."  
Hill stared sternly at LaToya Vance, who after a few fierce moments continued, "The People, moreover, and I personally, would like to offer our deepest apologies to Ms. Sachs for the wrongful accusation that was laid against her and unnecessary imprisonment that was imposed upon her by the State." Again Miranda smiled her cynical smile.  
  
"Mac and you spent more than eight hours last Saturday negotiating the words in that statement and in the legal document Andréa signed forgoing any lawsuit against the state, Miss Touch-Me-Not Prosecutor, she thought. Still," Miranda mused, "it clearly cost Ms. Vance some piece of pride to say the words." That thought made Miranda a little happier and her smile a little less cynical.  
  
"And, Ms. Sachs?" the Justice inquired. "Would you like to say anything for the record?"  
  
Andy rose and turned slightly to face the judge. Courtroom artists busily sketched her profile. "Just to say thank you, your Honor, she said. "This has been a very difficult experience, but through it I learned who my friends were."  
  
At this, Lily, sitting alone in her apartment, watching a live stream on her computer, sobbed and took another shot. Tomorrow she would feel ugly. But she'd been feeling ugly for quite a few weeks now. She was getting used to this feeling. Ugly didn't quite capture how Mr. and Mrs. Sachs felt watching the same live stream.  
  
"I owe them," Andy continued, "my life and my deepest gratitude. It is a debt I am happy to bear." She paused and for a moment looked as though she might say more but then decided against it and sat down.  
  
"Thank you, Ms. Sachs. Grace in victory is a rare virtue. It's almost as rare as truth and justice but I am pleased to say that both have been served here, today." With that his tone changed, and sounding very official and very bored he said, "The case of People v. Sachs is dismissed." He banged the gavel. Pandemonium.


	21. Epilogue

Some weeks later, Andy and Miranda had retired to the rooftop garden of Miranda's townhouse after a casual Friday dinner to enjoy an unusually warm evening, even for Spring. The girls were at their father's. They talked about books and movies and the plans for Andy's project. She had wanted to call the website, "The Daily Planet," but it turned out the name was trademarked. "New York Minute" was the current working title, but no one was completely sold on it. They lapsed into an easy silence, enjoying the play of light drifting from the streets through the trees.  
  
After awhile, Miranda broke the quiet with a cough. "Andréa, darling."  
  
"Yes, Miranda?" Andy replied.  
  
"I know that I'm rather awkward at this but I've thought long and hard about it and I just think given the absence of precedent you will have to forgive me if I lack a certain eloquence."  
  
Andy stared at her. Miranda Priestly was nervous. Andy felt exceedingly worried. "Miranda, is everything alright. You, Runway, the girls?"  
  
"Please, Andréa," said Miranda, somewhat annoyed. "I'm trying to figure out how to ask you to marry me. I thought at first a light, 'how about a spot of marriage, dear.' But that seemed far too off the cuff for me. Then I thought a formal thing on bended knee, 'would you do the very great honor,' but." She paused and acknowledged Andy's grin, "I knew that you would tease me mercilessly if I did. I believe the problem is that you are the writer and I am the editor. I should leave it to you to craft the words."  
  
"That you'll use to ask me to marry you?" Andy asked with a laugh.  
  
"Yes, well, you see the problem. It's a a hard nut to crack and I want to do it properly."  
  
"I think you work on it some more, Miranda." Andy said kindly. "I'm still pretty raw and I don't know that I'll be up for any betrothing for awhile. Maybe be the time you figure it out, I'll be in a place where I can give you the answer you deserve."  
  
They were quiet again, but the silence between them was less easy. "Miranda," Andy began again, "I want you to know that I love you."  
  
"I know you do," Miranda said, interrupting her. "And I know that you know how much I love you. I can wait for you Andy Sachs. I'm actually very good at waiting for you. I just want to know that I am not being unreasonable to..." she faltered.  
  
"To hope?" asked Andy.  
  
"Yes," Miranda answered. "As you know, I excel in hoping as well."  
  
"You are not, Miranda Priestly," Andy answered her with a radiant smile, "being unreasonable at all. Let's live on hope together for awhile."  
  
"Alright," said Miranda with a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. "Let's." She reached her hand out and Andy took it in her own. They stared quietly at the stars and the silence between them was very easy indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter in this story. I have a hankering to continue with another Dorothy Sayers courtship plot, but it will take me a while to get it organized. I can't thank everyone who has left me comments and edits enough. You've been wonderful motivators.


End file.
